Of Honor and Love
by sneetchstar
Summary: Expanded version of my one-shot "The Escort", in which Princess Guinevere travels to Camelot to be married to King Arthur. Medieval AU. No magic.
1. Chapter 1

"My lady, he's here."

Four words. Four small words Princess Guinevere has been dreading since the day she was informed by her father that he had promised her to King Arthur of Camelot.

This was three weeks ago. The warrior king had defended Cameliard in battle, and the two kings agreed to form a permanent alliance.

Princess Guinevere, second and youngest child of King Leodegrance, was to be the bridge joining the two kingdoms. Cameliard will gain protection provided by Camelot's formidable army, and Camelot's young king will benefit from the older king's reputation and diplomatic skills.

King Arthur Pendragon's recently-deceased father was a tyrant who left his son a kingdom with few remaining allies, and Arthur is eager to repair the damage done by his father's reign.

"Thank you, I'll be down presently," she curtly says, not turning around. She knows it is rude of her. Usually, she treats her servants with respect and kindness. _Hopefully,_ _they will forgive my curtness, understanding my reticence to be whisked away by some… escort… to go and be married to a complete stranger._

_Couldn't even be bothered to come get me himself. Sends a knight._

She heaves a sigh, turns and sweeps from her beloved chambers, not looking back.

King Leodegrance is speaking with a man in the council chambers, awaiting her arrival. She studies the man's back, but a red cape and medium-length hair give her no clues to his nature.

"Ah, Guinevere, my dear, may I present Sir Leon of Camelot, Knight of King Arthur's Round Table and Captain of the Guards," the king says, noticing his daughter's presence. He limps closer to her, and she quickens her pace to meet him.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir knight," she mildly says, curtseying out of deference to his king.

"My lady, it is my honor to escort you to Camelot," the knight says, bowing respectfully in return.

Guinevere takes a moment to study the knight. _He's handsome. Blue eyes, a kind face. At least,_ _I won't be in the company of an ugly brute. Well, not ugly, anyway. He could certainly still be a brute. So could his king. Some of the most dangerous men are the most handsome._

She squares her shoulders, growing tired of waiting. "Shall we depart while we have the light in our favor?" she asks.

"As my lady wishes," Sir Leon nods, the barest hint of a smirk playing about his lips. He turns toward the king. "My lord, King Arthur will send word when we've safely arrived."

"Yes, tell, ah, King Arthur, that I will await his messenger," Leodegrance answers.

Guinevere looks between her father and the knight, mildly puzzled and unable to shake the strange feeling they are not telling her something.

"Guinevere, my treasure," the king says, holding his arms open to his daughter. She walks to him, tears slipping from her eyes. "You will be happy in Camelot. The king is a good man," he whispers as he hugs her. "I wouldn't have promised you to someone with whom you would be unhappy."

She looks up at his dear face, etched with lines and surrounded by graying hair. She has so many questions, but doesn't feel she can ask them. _How can you know what kind of man will make me happy? Why does it seem so easy for you to simply send me away after years of keeping me cloistered like a caged bird? What would Mo__t__her__ think __ab__out__ this?_

"I will miss you, Father," she says instead. It is the truth, but a small part of her is beginning to feel that maybe leaving this place may be good for her. _As long as King Arthur doesn't keep me closed up in a tower._

He takes her face gently between his hands and kisses her forehead.

"I am sorry I cannot come with you. I wish I could," he quietly says.

"I know," she nods. Her father's gout has progressed to the point where his foot is swollen and painful most of the time. Much of the physical aspects of his kingship are now handled by Guinevere's older brother, Prince Elyan. "You should not be on your feet even now."

He nods. "I will retire to my chambers after you leave," he promises. "Elyan should be returning from his visit to Gawant tomorrow, and he will see to it that I behave myself."

Guinevere glances over her shoulder and sees Sir Leon waiting quite patiently for her to say farewell to her father. "I know he will," she answers, hugging her father once more.

"I love you, my Guinevere. Your mother would be proud of you, her little copy," he smiles fondly at her.

"I love you, Father," she says. She gives him one final squeeze, then steps out of his embrace to face Sir Leon.

She nods, turns, and strides from the hall. The knight follows on his long legs.

"So eager to be off, my lady?" he asks, catching her up.

_He's certainly forward._ "We must take advantage of the daylight while we can," she answers, keeping to her original story. In truth, she simply wishes for an end to the mystery her life has become.

She knows very little of King Arthur, only what she's heard or has been told. He's "kind and fair". He's "a fierce warrior". And, thankfully he's young, which is reassuring to the young princess. _Perhaps I can find out more about him from this knight._

"Will you be riding in the wagon, my lady, or…" Sir Leon asks, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"I prefer to ride my horse, thank you," she answers, walking to her beloved white mare, Lavender.

Leon smiles. "Of course, my lady. You have a fine horse," he nods, climbing astride his massive brown stallion.

"I am quite fond of my horse," she proudly says. "I will have to remember to thank the king for allowing me to bring her."

"Indeed, my lady," he says, showing that curious smile again. "May I?" He holds his hand out and she puts hers in it, the fine kid leather of her glove appearing soft and feminine against the rough leather of his knights' gloves.

Once she is settled, they head out, Leon leading the way. She follows, and the wagon with her dowry and personal items follows behind, driven by another Knight of Camelot.

Outside the citadel, Guinevere quickly pulls alongside Sir Leon, not wishing to look at a horse's backside all the way to Camelot.

"How long is the journey?" she asks.

He turns to face her. He seems pleased she has chosen to ride beside rather than behind him. "Less than a day. We should arrive by nightfall."

"Oh," she says, a little disappointed.

"In no hurry to meet your future husband?" he asks.

"Well, to be honest, I was hoping to have the opportunity to stay at an inn. I've never been to one."

"No?"

"No. I've never been anywhere really. My father would barely allow me out of the castle, and if so, it was with at least four bodyguards."

"So, never an inn or… a tavern?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with humor.

"Princesses do not go to taverns," she answers.

"Of course not. What do princesses do, if I may ask?"

She looks sideways at the knight, wondering if everyone in Camelot is so forward. "Well, I don't know what _other_ princesses do, but I don't do much of anything. I can sew and weave. I can sing a little. I read. Quite a bit."

"What do you read?"

"History. Stories. Whatever I can find," she admits, strangely worried that the knight might now think she's bookish and odd. "I like to walk in the gardens. I know some about herbs and flowers. Not a very useful skill…"

"Do you also know how these plants can be used?" he asks.

"Of course."

"Then, I would say it's a very useful skill indeed," he appraises.

She cannot decide if she should feel pleased she has his approval. Despite his bold manner, she finds she cannot help but like this man.

"What do you sew?" he continues.

"Needlework, mostly. I made a tapestry for the king. It's in the wagon."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It's a… work in progress, I guess. Family trees of Pendragon and Leodegrance. I'll… likely have to add… to… it…" she replies, blushing suddenly, thinking of exactly why she would need to do so.

"Hmm," he noncommittally replies.

Guinevere avoids his gaze, not wishing to see if he is silently laughing at her. _Why does he ratt__le m__e so?_

xXx

After a few hours' riding, Princess Guinevere and Sir Leon stop to rest. The sun is high and the day has grown warm. They leave the second knight on the road with the cart and guide the horses into the woods a short distance to a clear, gentle stream. Leon leads the horses to the bank so they may drop their muzzles into the water and drink.

Guinevere carefully picks her way to the stream as well. She removes her gloves and scoops some cool water into her hands, drinks, then pats the back of her neck with her still-wet hands. When she stands and places her cool hand on her forehead, she sees Sir Leon regarding her curiously. She pretends not to notice his attention, quickly turning towards her horse.

She reaches into her saddlebag and pulls out three apples. She feeds one to Lavender, stroking her nose and speaking softly to her. Then, she feeds the second to Storm, the horse that had been pulling the cart.

"May I?" she turns and asks, holding up the other apple and looking at Leon's horse.

"Um, all right, but be careful. He doesn't always like strangers…" the knight says, walking over as she makes her way to his stallion.

"He's beautiful. What's his name?"

"Um, Captain," he says, his voice tinged with concern as she nears the horse's head.

"Hello, Captain, would you like an apple?" she asks, reaching up and stroking his long nose. He ducks his head and pushes against her hand. He wants the apple. She holds up her other hand and when he gently takes the apple from it, she grins triumphantly at Sir Leon.

Her smile falters when she sees the same strange expression on his face, a combination of amusement, confusion, and approval. _Is he trying to figure me out? Why would he bother?_

"I have more apples, if you'd like one. Apples fit for people, that is," she hastily says, turning away, eager, for some reason, to be away from his gaze.

"Are you going to stroke my nose and feed it to me, too?" he asks.

"I beg your pardon?" she asks, scandalized. She straightens her back and turns to face him, a shiny red apple in each hand.

"Oh. Um. Yes. Forgive me, my lady. I forget my place," he stammers, the silly grin falling from his face.

"Here," she says, thrusting the piece of fruit at him while keeping as much distance as possible from him.

"Thank you," he mutters.

"Does your king allow you to be so flippant in his presence?" she tersely asks. She knows she's being haughty and feels badly about it, but this knight is making her feel confused in a way she has never experienced before, and she doesn't think she likes it. She turns and faces the river, taking a bite of her apple and willing away the images his words have brought into her mind_. Feed__ing __him apples… and grapes, and cheese, and sweet honeyed cakes. I want them to go away. They need to go away._

"I think you'll find that the king is not the man you may think he is," Sir Leon says, speaking with his mouth full.

His tactful change of topic is enough to eradicate her unsettling thoughts. "What do you mean?" she asks, turning to face him again.

"I only mean that he is a man of the people. Or, at least, he tries to be."

"I have heard good things about King Arthur; you had me worried for a moment," she says, taking another small bite.

"King Arthur always tries to be fair and just, especially where his father wasn't."

"King Uther was a tyrant, I hear."

"An argument could be made to support that rumor, yes," Leon allows, tossing his apple core over his shoulder.

Guinevere stares down at her apple, only one-third eaten. _Should I offer him another apple? Or some dried meat? Surely he has provisions in his bags..._

"King Arthur is trying to learn from the mistakes his father made. He actually listens to his knights, the council, and the people."

"The Round Table," she says, citing one of the things of which she does know about Camelot.

"Yes. And, truth be told, one of his closest advisors is his manservant, Merlin. Though, he'd never admit it to anyone," he says, smirking.

Her eyes widen in surprise and realization. _Oh, I do hope I'm not going to be one of _those_ kinds of queens. A decoy to hide the fact that the king prefers the company of his manservant._

"My lady?"

She quickly schools her features. "I'm sorry, but your words just now… it's wonderful if that's how the king is. But, may I ask a delicate question? About the king and his… manservant?"

Sir Leon nods, then his eyes grow as wide as two blue and white saucers. "Oh! No! It's not like... _that_… ugh, no." He makes a face, as if he is truly disgusted.

"Thank you for your honesty, sir knight. I… was momentarily afraid that I was being sent to Camelot to… quell rumors, or something…"

"No, not at all."

"You seem fairly confident. Is the king a… a womanizer?"

"No. Just… I just know he definitely prefers the company of a beautiful lady such as yourself, my lady."

The princess stares, stunned into speechlessness by his bold words, her apple momentarily forgotten in her hand.

Leon seems to realize what he's just said, and shifts his attention to the thicket behind her.

She softly clears her throat. "Oh. Shall we continue on then? Sir Leon?"

He holds his hand up, and Guinevere notices that the forest has indeed grown very quiet. She slowly backs up against her horse as Sir Leon draws his sword.

In a flash, they are ambushed by three men, masked and dirty. Guinevere watches as Leon dispatches one almost immediately, almost without effort. He kicks the second into the third, but the third man pushes the second one back at Leon, toppling the sword from his hand.

Sir Leon and the second bandit struggle, and the third one circles around, setting his sights on Princess Guinevere.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

"Just humble travelers, we have nothing of value," she says. She knows she is not skilled at lying, and even if she were, the finery of her garments would belie her words.

He clicks his tongue, tutting at her. "Shame. Princesses should not lie, should they, Princess Guinev—" His words become a thick gurgle as Sir Leon's sword runs through his middle, the tip stopping just inches from her. The bandit drops to the forest floor. Leon withdraws his sword and sheathes it.

"Are you all right?" he asks, his voice soft and low, full of concern. He reaches his hand up to her face, but drops it, realizing touching her would be improper.

"Yes, I'm fine," she whispers. "The wagon!" she exclaims, remembering the third member of their party on the road. "I hope your knight is all right..."

Leon angles his head, intrigued and impressed that her concern is not for her belongings, but for the man guarding them. "Let's go see. I didn't hear anything, so Sir Bors is probably fine."

"They could have been quiet," she says, not convinced.

"These were unskilled thugs, my lady. It's doubtful they would be quiet while ransacking a wagon," he says, gathering the reins of all three horses.

She nods, conceding his point. _He would know better than I. He's seen these __ki__nds__ of things before. I have seen little more than tournament battles._ They get back up to the road and Bors is standing beside the cart waiting for them, whistling idly. He appears quite bored. Guinevere passes him an apple.

"Thank you, my lady," he nods, setting it on his seat before aiding Leon in hooking Storm to the cart.

"You can eat and drive," Sir Leon says once they've finished. She notices the unmistakable air of authority in his voice, and she wonders at it. She heard it earlier, when he was speaking of King Arthur as well. _He _is_ Captain of the Guards, so he does have authority over the other knights._

Back in his seat, Bors simply nods, clamping the apple in his teeth as he flicks the reins to start the horse moving again.

"That bandit didn't harm you?" Leon asks again, clearly concerned about Guinevere's safety.

"He didn't even touch me. He knew who I was though," she answers.

"I would imagine many people know who you are, my lady. Your beauty is widely known throughout the five kingdoms."

"You should not compliment me so," she mutters, looking away.

"I am merely repeating what is held to be common knowledge," he says, a little defensively. "Though, the rumors do not do you justice, my lady."

"Sir Leon, please," she says. "You are making me uncomfortable."

"Forgive me, my lady."

"I do not want to have to report your behavior to your king," she replies, but there is no conviction behind her words. She finds she cannot help but like this knight, bold and forward though he is.

"That would not do at all," he says, frowning. "Forgive me."

"I forgive you. Just mind your tongue, please."

"Yes, my lady," he answers. Then, he falls silent.

They ride quietly for a while, but Guinevere feels his gaze on her. She does not even have to turn her head, but can feel his eyes tracking her movements. It is like he is the hunter and she, his quarry.

_It is improper and it makes my pulse quicken in a way that makes me feel very unsteady. I am to be married to his king._

_ Yes, this knight is handsome. No, I may not think __so __ever again._

The sun is low in the sky by the time they pass through the gates into the courtyard of the castle. Guinevere looks up, surveying her new home. It is a beautiful place, white stone with tall, proud spires touching the clouds.

Sir Leon dismounts and immediately steps over to help her down from her horse, his broad hands nearly circling her waist.

Guinevere expects to be welcomed by the king, since he did not make the journey. Instead, she is greeted by a tall, skinny, pale man with shiny black hair and large ears.

He bows, a smile plastered on his face. "Welcome, my lady. The king begs your forgiveness for not meeting you. He is, at present, indisposed with matters of state, but has asked that you dine with him this evening," the young man says, speaking a mile a minute.

"Thank you…" she answers, finding herself returning his smile, which she now realizes, is genuine. It's bright and cheerful, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

"Merlin," the young man says, glancing at Sir Leon as the knight passes the reins of both horses to the servant.

"The king's manservant?" she asks.

"Oh, you've heard of me?" his grin broadens.

"Merlin…" Sir Leon interrupts.

"Sir Leon mentioned you while we journeyed, yes," Guinevere answers, ignoring the knight.

"Good things, I hope," he cheerfully says.

"Merlin!" Leon says crossly. "Princess Guinevere has been traveling all day and surely would like to retire to her chambers."

"Yes, of course… Sir Leon," Merlin replies. He turns to his future queen and formally requests, "If you will follow me," leading the way into the castle. "Your things will be brought," he adds absently. "We have the largest guest chambers ready for you, my lady."

As Merlin continues to chat, Guinevere looks over her shoulder at Sir Leon. He hasn't moved. He is standing in the courtyard, watching her walk away, his face inscrutable.

_Why did I choose to look back?_

"Your rooms for the night," Merlin declares, pushing the door open for her. "There will be a maidservant attending you presently. Her name is Sefa. Hazel, the head maid, selected her especially for you, my lady."

"Thank you," Guinevere answers, looking around her room. "It's lovely," she adds.

"You are very welcome, my lady. We are very happy to have you here in Camelot, and we hope you will be happy with us," Merlin says. "Ah, here is Sefa."

A young woman, perhaps a few years younger than the princess, appears beside Merlin. She curtseys, but says nothing, waiting for her mistress to address her.

"Hello, Sefa," Guinevere says. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

Sefa looks pleasantly surprised at the princess' kind manner. She smiles and answers, "It is my honor to serve you, my lady."

Merlin allows some pages to enter with Guinevere's possessions, then bids them farewell, stating he'll return for her in an hour's time to escort her to meet the king for dinner.

Princess Guinevere of Cameliard, now Camelot, stands in the middle of the room, watching Sefa and the pages bustle around her, organizing her belongings.

She thinks about telling them not to go to so much trouble as they'll only have to do it all again tomorrow night.

_As Merlin said, these are my rooms just for the night. My temporary quarters. Tomorrow,_ _I am to be married to a man I've never met. Never seen._

_ Any little girl who wishes she could be a princess clearly knows nothing of actually _being_ a princess._

xXx

Sefa is just finishing Princess Guinevere's hair when Merlin knocks. "You look beautiful, my lady," the young maid says, smiling. She has found her new mistress to be one of the kindest people she has ever met, and is very happy to have been chosen to be her maidservant.

"Thank you, Sefa," Guinevere answers. "Your skill with taming my unruly curls is to be commended."

Sefa smiles and ducks her head as she hurries to open the door for Merlin. She gives him a deferential nod, and Guinevere realizes the king's manservant is a respected member of the royal household. She saw glimpses of it earlier, how the pages and other servants seemed to defer to him, taking orders from him as if he were their better and not merely another servant.

The princess is well aware there often exists a hierarchy among servants in a castle, and she is quickly learning that Merlin is very near, if not at, the top of the list. _I shall have to see him interact with Hazel in order to make an accurate determination._

"The king awaits your company at dinner, my lady," Merlin pronounces with a bow.

Guinevere stands and walks towards him. She has changed from her simple burgundy traveling dress into a finer one of blue silk. Her hair, which had been pinned up into a simple chignon, is still pulled away from her face, but now cascades in umber ringlets down her back.

"Thank you, Merlin," she says. She lauds herself on keeping her voice and steps steady while her stomach feels like an entire swarm of butterflies is trying to escape. She feels cold, but slightly sweaty, and hopes her anxiety doesn't show.

"Follow me, please," Merlin requests. Guinevere walks beside him, fighting the urge to wring her hands. Sefa walks a few paces behind them, puzzling over why they are walking towards the king's chambers instead of the great hall.

Merlin knocks on the door, then opens it before an answer comes.

Guinevere hesitates. "We are dining in the king's chambers?" she asks.

"King Arthur wishes to have a private dinner with his future wife, my lady. The great hall is... too big. Too impersonal," Merlin explains, hovering in the doorway.

"Very well," she replies, unable to contest his words. She steps into the room, then immediately stops.

Sitting at the head of the long wooden table, his expression a combination of hope and remorse, is Sir Leon.

At least, it is the man Princess Guinevere has been led to _believe_ is Sir Leon. She feels her face heat in humiliation and anger. _To what kind of man did my father promise me?_

"I'll be right outside, Sire," Merlin quietly says. He exits and closes the doors behind him. Guinevere can hear the muffled sounds of Merlin explaining things to Sefa, who had come along expecting to serve.

Sir Leon – King Arthur stands and walks over to Guinevere, his face still wearing his apology. He reaches his hand out to take hers, hesitates, then drops it.

Guinevere notices the gesture, and it touches her heart in a way she didn't expect. Her butterflies return, but are swarming in a different way now, a way that is also not unpleasant. Remembering her ire, she pushes them away.

He gazes down at her, his blue eyes bright and soft, and whispers, "How angry are you right now?"

"Angrier than I've ever been in my entire life, _Sir Leon,_" she retorts, her voice not as steady as she would like. "You've made me feel a fool." She wonders what he would do if she left the room, abandoning him and their dinner, but his remorseful expression combined with her sense of honor compels her to stay. _At least, hear his explanation_.

"I am sorry, Guinevere. Truly. It is not, and never has been, my intention to humiliate you. Will you let me explain?" he asks.

She pauses a moment, regarding him. _He appears to be in earnest. _Guinevere nods, and he pulls out her chair for her. She sits and allows him to slide her forward. She watches with interest as he serves her himself, pouring wine into her goblet before taking his seat.

"Please," he gestures for her to start eating.

She has been too nervous to be hungry, and now her nerves have turned into confusion, but she doesn't wish to be rude. She picks up her fork and eats a bite of food. It's very good, but she hardly notices.

"As I said, I did not intend to humiliate you. My... ruse was not some lark, a prank to make a fool of you. I understand that you do not know me, but please believe me when I tell you I have never found joy in making others look foolish, and have nothing but disdain for those who do," he begins. His voice is soft and warm, like a blanket of honey. "I have several reasons for hiding my identity from you during our journey."

"From me, but not my father," she interjects, stung by this sudden realization. _Of course, he knew. He had met Arthur. He agreed to this "ruse"._

Arthur nods, knowing he doesn't need to elaborate. He takes a small drink from his goblet, then begins his explanation. "The first reason, I will admit, is a bit selfish. I simply wished to get to know you as you truly are, not as a bride trying to be who she _thinks_ her husband wants her to be," he explains, his soft blue eyes searching her honey-brown ones.

She opens her mouth to retort, but closes it again, unsure how her future husband will feel about her speaking her mind.

"Please, Guinevere. Say what you will," he implores.

"I fear you will not like what I have to say," she carefully answers.

"Whatever it is, I wish to hear it. Please."

She blinks and breaks his gaze. "It was terribly unfair of you, Sire. You put me at a distinct disadvantage, and I feel as though I've been deceived and humiliated!" she says, thumbing away a single tear as she looks down at her plate. She jabs a piece of meat with her fork, looks at it, then sets it back down on her plate and reaches for her goblet, willing her shaky hand to be steady.

"Please. Call me Arthur. And, you are absolutely right. It was unfair of me. But, I never once found you foolish. Far from it," he answers. His voice is soft and full of contrition. He noticed the tear she tried to hide, and it makes him feel like a scoundrel.

There is silence for a moment or two. Then, Guinevere quietly says, "Thank you."

Arthur takes a deep breath and continues. "The reason I wanted to get to know you this way is because... well, I thought it would be easier. For both of us."

She looks at him, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Were you feeling anxious at all during the trip? Did you feel as though you had to behave a certain way, behave in a manner you _thought_ I would like? Were you feeling the need to impress me?" he asks.

"I was anxious, but not for the reasons I suspect you mean," she answers, now following his logic.

"I understand."

"But, no, I did not feel the need to pretend to be your perfect future wife."

He smiles. "You were simply yourself, Princess Guinevere of Cameliard, not the future Queen of Camelot."

She nods. "Yes."

"Ah. The woman I _truly_ wish to know. And, I promise you, Guinevere, the only thing about which I lied was my name." He pauses. "Well, I did have to remember my place a few times, but the man you traveled with was truly me." He reaches out and offers his hand, palm-up, on the table. She regards it for a moment, unsure, then places her hand in his.

His hands are warm and slightly rough, but not in an unpleasant way. "For what it's worth, I found you to be delightful, intelligent, excellent company, and a wonderful traveling companion," he says. "I was pleased to learn everything your father said about you is completely true." He softly rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.

Her breath hitches slightly at the caress, and she keeps her eyes trained on her plate. "I found your company pleasant as well," she quietly admits, risking a glance at his face.

"Only 'pleasant'?" he asks, smiling impishly at her. She removes her hand from his and looks away. "Too soon for levity?"

"It's not that," she says. She closes her eyes, then looks at him. "I have been berating myself all day for being attracted to a man who I _thought_ was the First Knight of Camelot. Your little... ruse made me feel something I did not want to feel, was not _expecting_ to feel, and..." she pauses, taking a deep breath and exhaling it in a frustrated _huff_, "it's all become very confusing!" she exclaims.

His eyes widen in surprise. He hadn't thought of this possibility. "Oh," he dumbly says. "I... I am so sorry, Guinevere. I simply cannot say it enough it seems. I never intended..." He sighs, resigned. "It was a bad idea."

"Well-intended, but deeply flawed," she suggests. "I suppose it is a good thing that it was _you_ to whom I was actually... attracted," she pauses, her cheeks growing warm as she admits being drawn to this man. _Not "this man". My fiancé. I am allowed to be attracted to my future husband. Aren't I?_ She gathers her wits and continues. "But, I was feeling so... ashamed."

"Oh, no, no, no," he soothes, reaching for her hand again. She allows it. "Do not be ashamed. This is completely my fault, and I intend to make it right. Please, berate yourself no longer, Guinevere," he begs, lifting her hand to his lips and lightly kissing her knuckles.

His lips are soft and warm on her skin, and he speaks her name like a prayer. Guinevere is dumbstruck, ready to forgive him but still wishing to know his other reasons.

"Until just now, I had no idea that you found me... attractive," he says. "I never would have guessed." He shakes his head in mild disbelief. "Your nobility is to be commended. Traveling to meet your husband with a strange man to whom you found yourself drawn, and you did not act on your feelings, did not even allow them to show... not everyone would have been as strong, as true."

"I am betrothed to _you,_ Arthur. If we do not have honor, what do we have?" she asks.

He smiles, her words speaking to his heart. "We are nothing without honor. The Knights of Camelot value honor above all else. While I _am_ king, I was first a knight, and still hold myself to this ideal." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, then releases it and takes up his fork. "Would you like to know the reason why I wished to get to know you as you truly are?"

"I had assumed it was so you would see my true nature, nothing more," she answers, returning to her meal. The more she speaks with him, the more her mood improves.

"Not quite. Do you know of King Cenred and Queen Morgana?" he asks.

"Queen Morgana is your cousin, raised by your father as his ward," she answers. This is common knowledge.

"Yes, and Father married her off to Cenred, one of the few allies he did not alienate. He sent her off like a prize, without a thought for her happiness," Arthur explains. He looks straight into Guinevere's eyes. "Morgana is miserable."

"Oh, dear," Guinevere says. "Is he cruel to her? I must confess I do not know much about Cenred's nature."

"From what she tells me in her letters and the few times they've visited, he does not mistreat her. He isn't cruel; does not beat her. They simply... don't get on. It's very sad. They almost lead separate lives, even sleeping separately unless Cenred wishes to..." he trails off, looking away.

"Um, yes," she replies, slightly blushing.

"Right. And, he doesn't consult with her on matters of state. Doesn't consult with her on _anything,_ in fact. He doesn't seem interested in any of her thoughts or feelings. It's almost as if… as if she is a ghost in his palace," he explains.

"Oh, dear, that must be awful," she says, her heart going out to the king's cousin.

He nods, his face sad. "If she attempts to voice an opinion or give counsel, he openly dismisses her. In fact, one of the members of his council has made his mark simply by repeating Morgana's words a moment or two after she had spoken. Cenred now thinks he's brilliant."

"How terrible," Guinevere says. She realizes she's learning a lot about Arthur and what kind of queen he is hoping she will be.

Arthur sighs. "She was always so exuberant. Like a bright light. The last time I saw Morgana, she was so... subdued. Cenred has snuffed out her light." He looks at his fiancée. "I do not want to snuff out your light, Guinevere."

"I don't want that either, Arthur," she answers, her heart heavy for Morgana.

"I want us to be happy. I see my cousin and how unhappy she is, how unhappy _they_ are, and... I almost considered not entering into a political marriage at all. Hang tradition and marry for love."

"The secret dream of every Royal," she agrees, lightly chuckling.

He smiles. "Indeed."

"What changed your mind?" she asks.

"Your father. He spoke of you... expounding on your intellect and beauty. Your boundless kindness. Something about the way he spoke about you... it touched me. Part of me wouldn't believe such a person could exist," he admits.

_What on earth did my father say about me?_ "Oh?" she asks.

"I asked him to give me the night to mull over his offer. I spent that time asking people in your kingdom about you. When their words did not contradict his, I agreed." He pauses, then shyly adds, "I'm glad I did."

His words make her feel warm again, only this time it is not the uncomfortable heat of humiliation. "I am, too," she replies. "I think."

He chuckles, understanding her reticence. "I have one more reason for concealing my identity during our journey," he says, hoping this last point will fully convince her.

"You do?" she asks, setting her fork down again. Her dinner is about two-thirds eaten, but she cannot eat any more.

"Your safety is very important to me," he says.

Once again, Guinevere's eyebrows knit in confusion. "As a king, a knight, a man of honor, I would think the safety of _any_ woman would be important."

Arthur vigorously nods his agreement. "Indeed, it is. Even more so would be the well-being of my wife. It is not something I could entrust to anyone other than myself." She feels her face color under the king's intense, sincere gaze, and he continues. "If anything happened on the journey and I was not there to make sure you were unharmed, I would not have been able to live with myself."

She is somewhat taken aback by the heartfelt passion in which Arthur answers. Gathering her thoughts she asks, "How does hiding your identity protect my safety?"

"Well, you remember the bandits," he says, and she nods. "They did not know who I was. They knew _you,_ but to them, I was merely a knight. Had they been able to identify me as something more, they may have brought reinforcements."

"You were very impressive," she says.

"Thank you," he answers. "It was only three men." Her eyebrows rise and he continues. "I do not wish to sound boastful, but I have felled twice as many."

"By yourself?" He nods. "In battle or on the training field?"

"Tournament," he answers.

"Goodness," she breathes.

"I am the king," he simply says. "I have to be the best for as long as I am physically able."

"You set a very high standard for yourself," she says.

"Do you not do the same for _your_self?" he counters.

She tilts her head in silent concession to his point.

"And that, dear Guinevere, is why I personally came to deliver you to, um, me, but used the name of my First Knight," he concludes. "I simply _would not_ entrust your safety to anyone else."

Guinevere is momentarily stunned by Arthur's last statement. She clears her throat, then asks, "So, there is a _real_ Sir Leon?" Once she found out Leon was actually Arthur, she had assumed 'Leon' was simply a name he picked.

"Oh, yes," he answers. "You'll meet him tomorrow. You will meet all of your knights tomorrow."

_My knights. I have knights. This is truly happening._ She nods. "Thank you, Arthur," she says. "For taking the time to explain. For apologizing."

"You're welcome, Guinevere," he replies. "I... I never meant to cause you pain, and now that I know I have... I never wish to do so ever again." He kisses her hand again. "Can you forgive me?"

She smiles, looking directly at him. "I can, and I do," she answers.

"Oh, thank you," he says, beaming and kissing her hand once more. "You do not know how happy I am to hear you say that."

"I think I have some idea," she says. "It is written all over your face."

"Yes, I have been told that occasionally happens," he admits. "I need to work a little harder at schooling my features." His lips curl into a mischievous half-grin. "Perhaps you can teach me."

Guinevere laughs for the first time all day, and she is amazed at how good it feels. "Perhaps, another day."

"Yes, I believe we are both going to be busy for the next day or two," Arthur agrees. "May I walk you back to your chambers?"

"Yes," she answers. He stands and pulls her chair out. "May I ask...?"

"You may ask me anything at all, any time you like," he interjects.

"Where are my permanent quarters going to be? I know my room tonight is only temporary. Merlin said so."

"Oh. Um, well, I was hoping you would be amenable to sharing these rooms with me," he shyly answers, "but... there is an adjoining room through that door," he points, "that will be yours."

She looks around Arthur's chambers, _really _looking for the first time. They are in the central room. There are sleeping quarters to her left, and she can see a large bed dressed in rich reds and golds. _Camelot colors, so different from __Cameliard__'s silver and dark blue._ To her right is the door Arthur indicated, which is closed. She thinks about asking to see it, but right now, a soft nightdress and an even softer pillow sound like a more attractive option. _These rooms are really quite nice._

"You can redecorate if you wish," Arthur says. "I truly want you to be happy here, Guinevere."

"I do, too, Arthur," she says.

He smiles. "Come. I'm sure you must be tired," he says, offering his arm.

Without hesitation, she loops her hand into the crook of his elbow and allows him to lead her from the room.

True to his word, Merlin is waiting just outside the doors. He ducks inside to clean up the dinner dishes when they leave.

Outside her door, Arthur takes both her hands in his. "Thank you for listening and accepting my explanation, Guinevere. I was prepared to give you the option of refusing and returning to your father if you wished." He looks down at their hands. "Do you?"

She, too, looks at their joined hands, his large pink ones surrounding her smaller, tan ones. "No," she answers. "I do not wish to return to my father."

He exhales, and she realizes he was holding his breath waiting for her answer.

"Oh, good," he says, sounding relieved. He looks at her. "I have been remiss in one thing this evening," he says.

"You have?"

He nods. "I have not yet told you how very beautiful you are, Guinevere. I wanted to say it the moment I laid eyes on you. You took my breath away then, and you did so again tonight at dinner."

"Oh," she softly exclaims, touched. His words do not sound like flattery. "Thank you."

His eyes roam her upturned face for a moment, as though he is deciding what to do next. _Will she let me kiss her? I should probably wait until the wedding._ "Good night, Guinevere," he says. Then, he bends down and brushes his lips against her cheek in the barest caress of a kiss.

"Good night, Arthur," she whispers, staring up at him. The butterflies have returned.

He gives her one last smile, releases her hands, then turns and walks away, heading back towards his chambers.

Guinevere stands in the corridor a moment longer, watching him walk away. Just before he rounds the corner, he turns back and looks at her, catching her eye for just a second before he disappears.

"My lady?" Sefa quietly inquires, appearing beside her mistress.

_Merlin must have sent her. _"Oh. Yes, thank you, Sefa. I'd like to get ready for bed," Guinevere answers. Sefa opens the door and the princess walks inside, her mind whirring, still slightly confused, but... hopeful.

_Perhaps this will work after all._


	2. Chapter 2

"You're up."

"Oh, don't sound so surprised, Merlin," Arthur replies, turning from the window to face his manservant who is standing, staring in disbelief just inside the sleeping quarters of the king's chambers. "I am quite capable of rousing myself."

"Of course, you are, Sire. That does not mean you do so on a regular basis," Merlin says, grinning as he walks forward. "Would you like to dress now or after you break your fast?"

"After," the king replies, stepping over to his desk. "I have a small errand I'd like for you to run this morning," he says, picking up a box and a square of folded parchment.

"Is that for the princess?" Merlin asks, curious.

"Yes. I'd like for you to deliver this to her before the wedding," Arthur says. "It's very important that she receives it in a timely fashion."

"Of course. What is it?"

Arthur sighs lightly. Merlin has been a devoted and surprisingly adept servant for just over four years now, and the two men have settled into a strange sort of friendship. Merlin is often less formal and more opinionated than he should be, but Arthur has noticed that he only behaves this way when they are alone. So, he allows it. Especially because the peculiar young man has given him surprisingly wise counsel on more than one occasion.

"Something of my mother's. I would like Guinevere to have it." Arthur opens the box and shows Merlin.

"Very nice," Merlin says. "Fit for a queen."

"I should think so," Arthur says, snapping the box closed. "This," he holds up the parchment, "explains what it is and why I'm not delivering it personally." He hands both to Merlin, then makes his way to the table. "I'm a bit troubled that the tradition of the bride and groom not seeing one another the day of the wedding is not one they keep in Cameliard. I do not want her to think I am avoiding her, especially after yesterday."

"Hence, the letter," Merlin nods, setting the box on the table. He begins serving the king his breakfast.

"Merlin," Arthur comments, looking from Merlin to the box and back again.

"I think I should wait a bit, Arthur," Merlin calmly says, passing him a napkin. "Princess Guinevere is having her bath right now." Arthur nearly drops his fork, and Merlin bites back a snort of laughter. "I saw the pages bearing the water on my way up."

"Oh. Yes. Well spotted," the king croaks, his attention on his breakfast.

Merlin tactfully ignores his master's flustered behavior and bustles around, tidying up. He secures the curtains separating the main chamber from the sleeping quarters. He picks up the king's boots, which he was _sure_ he neatly set beside the wardrobe the previous night. Then, he goes about removing the linens from the king's bed.

"What are you doing back there?" Arthur asks, turning.

"You're jumpy this morning," Merlin remarks. "I'm changing the bed linens, obviously." He looks across the room at Arthur, almost daring him to ask why.

Arthur blinks, and Merlin swears he sees the king blushing. "Right," Arthur manages, turning back around to face the table again.

"You quite like her," Merlin says, unable to keep himself from commenting any longer. "The princess. You're smitten." He grins lopsidedly at the back of Arthur's head.

Arthur ignores him, picking over his breakfast while memories of Guinevere's sweet scent, the softness of her cheek against his lips, and the darling freckles decorating her nose spin through his brain – again – but, this time they are interspersed with images of the princess in her bath.

"That's good though. Considering she's going to become your wife at noon," Merlin continues, shoving the old sheets in a basket before retrieving the fresh ones he had brought with him.

"Merlin..."

"She seems very nice. Sefa is quite happy. Says she's never served such a kind noble. She told me that Princess Guinevere remembers everyone's names – the servants and pages, I mean – and addresses them _by_ name. That's really impressive, considering she's been here less than a day. I wonder how long it will be before she knows more names around here than you. Who knows? She already m—"

"Merlin!"

"Sorry," Merlin apologizes. "Am I making you nervous?"

"I don't get nervous. You know that."

Merlin snorts. "This is different. It's not a tournament."

Arthur pushes away from the table. "Thank you, Merlin," he sarcastically replies. "That's very helpful."

Merlin puts the final pillow on the now-made bed. "Sorry," he apologizes again. "Let's get you dressed, and then I'll take your gift to the princess."

Arthur wants to tell him to take the gift now, but he wants to make sure Guinevere has enough time to finish her bath. _Patience, Arthur. She will get the gift in time._ "Actually Merlin, I think I might like a bath this morning as well," he says.

Merlin pauses, a shirt dangling from his hands. "Probably a good idea, Sire."

xXx

_Dearest Guinevere,_ the princess reads. She discovered the letter from her father this morning, tucked into her bag of personal grooming items.

_Please forgive me for keeping King Arthur's identity hidden from you. I hope, by the time you read this, you have learned the truth, and have forgiven him for his deception. I ask that you forgive me as well. He explained his reasons to me in a letter he sent ahead, and as your happiness and safety are of paramount importance to me as well, I agreed to keep his secret, even though it meant deceiving you, my most precious jewel._

_ When I bade you farewell, I said I know you will be happy in Camelot. You must have wondered how I could be so sure of this. I cannot know for certain, but I know you well, my daughter, and I have gotten to know_ _Arthur quite well. He is a good and honorable man. He has the nobility his father had forgotten. His heart is good and true._

_ Believe me when I say to you that I would not give your hand to just any man. I have had several offers before King Arthur. I turned them down, waiting for the right match. Your happiness is more important to me than _any_ alliance._

_ If I am proved wrong and you are unhappy or if King Arthur mistreats you in any way, all you need do is send word, and Elyan will come and bring you back home. I am willing to face the consequences if I am wrong, but I do hope, for all our sakes, that I am not._

_ Please know that I love you and I miss you already._

_ All my love,_

_ Father_

Guinevere sets the letter on her vanity, blinking back tears. _He turned down_ several _offers of alliance for my happiness? He should not have done that._

"Excuse me, my lady, your bath is nearly ready," Sefa quietly says. Guinevere looks up from her letter, and wonders how long her silent-footed maidservant has been standing and waiting. "Are you well, my lady?"

Guinevere reaches for a handkerchief and dabs her eyes. "Yes, Sefa, thank you. These are happy tears."

Sefa smiles. "Oh, I am glad to hear you say that, my lady. I was worried you were unhappy."

"I found a letter from my father," Guinevere explains, indicating the parchment. "It has helped explain a few things to me, and I am grateful for it."

Sefa nods, still smiling. "Oh," she softly exclaims, remembering the box in her hands. "My lady, do you have a preference for a particular scent?" She shows the princess the vials contained within.

"Lavender, please, with a touch of honeysuckle," Guinevere answers, looking only long enough to confirm those two oils were present.

"Um, yes, my lady," Sefa says, sounding unsure.

"Oh, goodness, I am sorry, Sefa, where is my head?" Guinevere apologizes, realizing the girl likely cannot read. "Lavender," she selects the vial. "My favorite," she adds, smiling. "And, a few drops of honeysuckle, for a touch of sweetness." She plucks the other vial from the box.

Sefa sets the box aside and takes the two vials. She holds up the glass of Lavender oil and peers at the label, vowing to commit to memory the shapes of the symbols written there. Guinevere nods. Then, Sefa studies the other one, learning the shape of the word "Honeysuckle" as well. _I must make certain these are always on hand._

"I will teach you if you like," Guinevere quietly offers.

"I would not want to trouble you, my lady. Surely, you will have more important tasks to attend," Sefa answers, but the princess saw the way the girl's eyes lit up.

"It is no trouble. I can already see you are a smart girl. There is no reason why you should not know your letters," Guinevere insists.

"Thank you, my lady," Sefa gratefully says, her eyes shining. She curtseys, then hurries away to finish preparing her mistress' bath.

Minutes later, Princess Guinevere is settling into the large tub filled with warm, scented water. She closes her eyes and sighs contentedly. "I would like a few moments, please, Sefa," she says, sensing the girl hovering uncertainly nearby.

"Yes, my lady," Sefa replies.

Guinevere woke up with a clearer head, having taken to heart her conversation with Arthur the previous night. She slept surprisingly well, and her father's letter this morning helped solidify her resolve (which was not as firm as she had let on last night) that she was doing the right thing by staying and seeing this marriage through.

She truly wants to make this arrangement work.

She slides down, sinking further into the water and submerging herself to her chin.

_I do like Arthur. He was genuine in his remorse and truly wished to make things right with me before we are wed. I could see it in his eyes._

_ He did seem to be in earnest about wishing to make this arrangement – this _marriage_ – work. He said he wants me to be happy, and I believe him._

_ I haven't heard the servants say a word of complaint against him or life in the castle. His personal manservant, who I am sure works his fingers to the bone for his king, appears quite content._

_Father is right. Arthur is good and honorable. There is something special about him. I can feel it when I look at him. He may – no, he _will_ return this kingdom to the glory it once knew._

Guinevere takes a deep breath, inhaling the musky-sweet scent of the lavender and honeysuckle wafting up on near-invisible tendrils of steam, willing the nerves about the upcoming events of the day to stay at bay. Her mind drifts back to Arthur, this time wondering how he will look in his kingly finery, waiting for her.

_ He's very handsome. Wh__ich__ does not hurt at all. I don't believe I've ever seen a man who is quite so attractive. And,_ _when he took my hand..._

She opens her eyes. She hasn't given the wedding night a thought until now, subconsciously avoiding addressing it. She is not completely naive; her father had summoned her old nursemaid four days ago to come and speak to her about what is to be expected on her wedding night.

Still, she has never even so much as kissed a man on the lips.

Guinevere closes her eyes again. _He will not be a brute or force himself on me. He will not simply take his pleasure and have done. I know he won't._ She tells herself these things not because she is completely certain, but because she needs to believe them to get through the day. As much as she likes Arthur, she is still very nervous.

Then, she remembers his few gentle touches last night, ending with the sweet, soft kiss on her cheek, and feels more certain.

Princess Guinevere opens her eyes and sits up in the tub. "All right, Sefa," she says. "It would not do for me to catch a chill on my wedding day."

xXx

Sefa is brushing out Guinevere's hair beside the fire, carefully drying it, when a knock sounds at the door.

Guinevere pulls her dressing gown more tightly closed around her chest and nods to Sefa. She is wearing a shift beneath the robe, but it would not do for the princess to be seen in her undergarments.

"It's Merlin, my lady," Sefa says.

Guinevere turns. "Please," she says, gesturing for him to enter.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, my lady, but I bring a gift from the king," he says.

"Oh?" she replies, curious.

"My lady," Merlin hands her the box and parchment.

"Should I read this first, or open the box?"

"Um... he didn't say. I do not know exactly what it says, but perhaps the parchment first," Merlin recommends.

She looks up at him, realizing he is probably waiting so he can report her reaction or deliver a response to his master. Resting the box on her knees, she takes the parchment.

"My lady?" Sefa asks.

"Yes, please continue, Sefa," Guinevere answers, her eyes on the message, written in what she assumes is the king's own hand.

_My dear Guinevere,_

_ Please accept this gift as a token of my commitment to you on this day. It has great meaning for me as it belonged to my mother, the last Queen of Camelot. I would be honored if you, the next, would wear it today._

_ I apologize for not delivering my gift in person, but it is a tradition in Camelot for the bride and groom to not see one another on the day of the wedding until the ceremony._

_ I await your presence in the hall._

_ Yours,_

_ Arthu_r

Guinevere smiles, folds the note, and tucks it into the pocket of her dressing gown. Then, she opens the box.

Inside is an exquisite necklace of emeralds set in gold.

"It is beautiful," she whispers, lifting it from the box. She admires it for a moment, fondly running her fingers over the treasured piece, then carefully sets it back inside. Sefa sets the hairbrush down and takes the box to the vanity. "I should like to write a reply to the king," Guinevere says.

"Oh," Merlin says, looking around. "Let me find some parchment and a quill..." he scuttles over to a desk in the corner and rifles through the drawers until he finds that for which he is looking.

Guinevere stands, walks to the desk, and Merlin hands her the quill.

"I didn't anticipate you would want to respond in writing," he admits.

She nods, and writes.

_Dear Arthur,_

_ Thank you very much for the beautiful necklace. It is I who is honored to wear such a precious __gift__, and I hope I will make both you and your mother proud._

_ We have the same tradition in __Cameliard__. I look forward to seeing you at noon._

_ Yours,_

_ Guinever_e

She gently blows on the parchment, drying the ink. Then, she folds it and passes it to Merlin.

The king's servant simply bows and hurries away. She thinks she sees him grinning.

"I believe my hair is dry enough, Sefa," Guinevere says, crossing the room to sit at the vanity.

xXx

The doors to the hall open with a clunk and creak. Princess Guinevere of Cameliard stands just outside the doors, taking one moment to observe what she can see of that which lies ahead.

_I can't see Arthur._

She reasons he must be up there, just out of her line of sight, so she takes a deep breath, and steps inside.

_I wish my father were here. He should be escorting me up the aisle. Or,_ _even Elyan. I don't know anyone here_ _apart from Arthur._

Guinevere slowly walks, her eyes unfocused, seeing everything and nothing. Faces are blurs. She barely notices two thrones behind a man with a white beard standing at the front.

Then, she feels them. His eyes. Arthur's blue eyes stealing over her like a caress. _Like the touch of his lips on my cheek last night._ She focuses her eyes and meets his gaze.

His first sight of Guinevere makes Arthur forget to breathe. When his bride looks at him, _sees_ him, he exhales and begins breathing again.

_She is beautiful._

They keep their eyes trained on one another until she joins him at the front, taking his offered hand and climbing the two steps onto the dais.

Geoffrey begins the ceremony, speaking the traditional words, binding Arthur's hand to Guinevere's with a garland.

They each speak the words that are required, neither really hearing nor remembering them.

"And now, your union must be sealed with a kiss," Geoffrey says, nodding at Arthur.

Arthur's eyes meet Guinevere's for only a moment before coming to rest on her lips. She stares up at him, anticipation making her breathing shallow, and her lips slightly part.

He bends down and softly kisses her.

Their right hands still bound between them, Arthur raises his left to delicately cup the side of her face. His broad hand spans from her cheekbone to her neck and his long fingers are warm against her skin.

Just as Guinevere relaxes into the kiss, surrendering to its sweetness, Arthur gently pulls away.

They open their eyes and gaze at one another for a long moment, each feeling the same warmth, the same thrill brought on by the kiss. His thumb caresses her cheek once.

"I hereby declare you husband and wife, eternally joined." Geoffrey's proclamation breaks the spell, and the crowd of knights and nobility begins politely applauding.

He unbinds their hands, and Arthur leads his bride back up the aisle to the balcony to greet their subjects, her hand tucked in his elbow.

"I don't plan to give a speech," he tells her as they approach the balcony doors. "But, I've been told that it is traditional to give the people a kiss. I doubt anyone will remember seeing as it's been nearly 30 years since the last royal wedding, so if you do not wi— "

"It's all right," she says. "My first kiss was in front of a crowd, so why not my second?" she asks, a nervous chuckle escaping.

He blinks at her, clearly not realizing the sweet kiss they just shared in the hall was her first. _Had I known, I probably would have kissed her last night._ He takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Ready?" he asks, pausing just inside the doors.

"No, but I never am," she admits, giving him a brave smile.

He lifts their joined hands, and, his eyes never leaving hers, kisses her knuckles. "They're going to love you," he says, and pushes the door open.

They are greeted with cheers as soon as they step onto the balcony. Arthur waves. Guinevere waves. They both smile as they hear random cries of "Long live King Arthur!" and "Long live Princess Guinevere!"

After a moment of smiling and waving, Arthur turns to Guinevere. "Ready?" he quietly asks.

She slightly nods, and he pulls her close, into his arms this time. The cheers increase as he bends his head and kisses her. He is less gentle this time, pressing his lips more fully against hers.

She fears her knees are going to give way. His lips are much softer than she would have expected. She feels that now-familiar heat spreading through her body. His hands are warm on her back, and her fingers curl into his coat of their own accord.

They separate, and as Arthur looks down at her, he realizes the only thing keeping him from kissing her again is the knowledge that all of their subjects are watching them.

"Oh." Arthur clears his throat, loosens his hold on her, and then waves one last time. Guinevere follows suit, and they head inside.

They pause at the top of the staircase, and Arthur turns to Guinevere. "You look gorgeous, Guinevere," he says, stealing one more moment of privacy before making their way to the feast. His eyes track her face, moving up to note how her hair is arranged half up but long in the back, then down to her bare shoulders, where they linger before taking in her dress. "Perfect."

"Thank you," she whispers, wondering in the back of her mind if she is going to have to grow accustomed to his praise or if it is only because she is new and interesting. _Time will tell._ "You look very handsome," she returns, timidly resting her hand on his chest, feeling the fine stitching of the brocade on his coat. Then, feeling somewhat awkward, she drops her hand. "They're waiting for us."

He thinks about kissing her again, but instead he simply nods and takes her hand. They walk down the stairs to find the knights lining the corridors, waiting to meet the woman who will be their queen in one week's time.

"Ah," Arthur exclaims, guiding his wife towards a tall, slender man with long, unruly curls and a short beard. "Guinevere, may I present Sir Leon, the _real_ Sir Leon," he pauses, grinning, "Captain of the Guards and First Knight of Camelot."

Guinevere reins in her surprise at his appearance. She quickly notes that several knights in the vicinity have long hair, beards, or both. _Have they no regulations about personal appearance?_

"My lady, it is an honor," Sir Leon greets, bowing respectfully.

She looks up and sees a kind face with intelligent blue eyes. "Sir Leon," she repeats his name, smiling.

The next knight is about Arthur's height and build, with dark, flowing hair and a beard that appears to exist more out of a lack of interest in shaving than anything else.

"Sir Gwaine," Arthur introduces, giving the knight a stern stare his wife does not notice.

"Princess," Gwaine greets. He smiles rakishly, then bows.

"Sir Gwaine," she acknowledges, somewhat taken aback by his grin.

The next is the largest man the princess has ever seen. Sir Leon is tall, but this knight is a shade taller still, and half again broader, his body covered in thick muscle. Unlike the previous two knights, he is clean-shaven, with close-cropped hair. _This is what a knight should look like… wait. Why does he have no sleeve__s_?

"Sir Percival."

The large man smiles down at the princess and bows, but says nothing.

"Sir Percival," she says, automatically smiling back.

Guinevere recognizes the next man. "Sir Bors," she greets, granting him a smile as well.

"My lady," the knight returns her smile and bows.

They move down the line, Arthur introducing each one, Guinevere repeating each name. Each knight bows. Some speak; some do not.

By the time they reach the last one, the princess' brain is swimming with names, but she vows to learn them as soon as possible. She already knows so many of the maids and pages' names, and makes a point to address them as such. It's one of the few things she remembers of her mother. "Learning a person's name, no matter what their station, is the very least you can do, Guinevere. If you address someone by name, it shows you care about them as an individual. It will show them they matter to someone," Queen Eleanor had told her seven-year-old daughter.

A year later, the queen succumbed to a grave illness that ate away at her from the inside. Heartbroken, Guinevere made it a point to remember all the things her mother taught her in the short time they had together.

xXx

The feast is lavish and festive. It seems every courtier wishes to meet Princess Guinevere and get into her good graces as soon as possible, so the head table has a steady stream of visitors.

Thankfully, the constant distraction helps keep Guinevere's mind from fretting over what is to come after the feast.

Still, in a rare moment of quiet, she finds her mind drifting and realizes she's not frightened of fulfilling her wifely duty. _I'm a bit nervous, but... a little excited. No. Curious._

_ The anticipation is almost too much._ The butterflies from the previous night returned when he kissed her on the balcony, and they haven't settled down much.

In fact, whenever Arthur touches her – which he frequently does – her stomach flips in a surprisingly nice way.

"Are you all right?" Arthur leans over and quietly asks, noticing her distant look.

She turns towards him. He's very close. "Yes, I'm fine," she says. "There's a lot to take in."

He nods. "I cannot imagine how overwhelmed you must be feeling," he says. Then, he smiles at her. "You are amazing," he adds. "Everyone is completely charmed."

They are interrupted as Sir Leon arrives with an older couple who are clearly his parents. They are warm and friendly, and only stay for a minute.

Guinevere smiles after them as they leave. Arthur sees her look at Leon, then over at Gwaine, her brow furrowing just slightly.

He leans close to her again. "You do not approve of the personal appearances of some of the knights," Arthur says, arching an eyebrow at her, remembering her initial reaction to seeing Leon for the first time.

"It is not my place to approve or disapprove," Guinevere tactfully replies.

"Of course, it is your place. You are my wife, and soon, you will be queen," Arthur counters, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. "But, if I may explain, I have always been of the opinion that there are more important matters about which a knight should be concerned than his hair and beard. Honor. Swordsmanship. Chivalry. Bravery."

Guinevere ponders his words for a moment, then says, "Perhaps, if the Knights of Cameliard spent less time trimming their hair and shaving their faces and _more_ time on the training field, we – _they_ might have a stronger army." She slyly smiles at Arthur, and he warmly laughs.

"Perhaps, but... if that was the case, we may not have formed this alliance, and I would not, at present, have a beautiful, intelligent wife."

"Well, you still might have one," she replies, "but it could easily be some _other_ princess."

"Hmm," he frowns. "No. That would not do at all." He reaches up and caresses her cheek. "You see, Guinevere, I have found I quite like you."

She smiles and looks down, his touch burning through her. "I like you, too, Arthur," she says. When she looks up, he is gazing intently at her.

"Would it be inappropriate to kiss you right now?" he asks. "I would really like to kiss you."

She gasps softly, her lips parting. His eyes focus on them immediately. "It _is_ our wedding day," she ventures. "I think it would be allowed."

He leans in and closes his lips over hers in a brief but dizzying kiss. Her lips were still slightly parted and when he kisses them, he allows his tongue to dart forward and taste her for the briefest moment, eliciting a soft gasp from his wife.

As soon as Arthur leans back, a shrill whistle of appreciation grabs their attention. They look for the source of the outburst and see Sir Gwaine grinning, his goblet aloft. He waggles his eyebrows at the couple.

Laughing away his embarrassment, Arthur throws a hunk of bread at the knight, who dodges it, still grinning. Guinevere giggles behind her hand, her cheeks pink.

"He's a mischievous one, isn't he?" she asks.

"Oh, you have no idea," Arthur answers. "He's an excellent knight though. One of the few who has actually bested me in combat."

Now, it is Guinevere's turn to raise her eyebrows.

"Once," he clarifies, raising his index finger. "Before you ask, Percival has beaten me once – without weapons, obviously, and Leon is nearly unstoppable with a mace. Long arms, you see."

"Ah," she nods, understanding.

"I seem to recall your brother being quite the skilled swordsman," he says, taking her hand in his. "But, he was the most deadly—"

"Throwing knives?" she finishes. He nods. "He tried to teach me once or twice," she continues.

Arthur's eyes widen. "Your father allowed it?"

"Father didn't know," she answers, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Not that it mattered. I was hopeless. Couldn't throw them hard enough to stick into the target even when I managed to hit it."

"Oh, dear," he says, trying not to laugh.

"You can laugh," she says.

"No, no, I don't want to..." he tries, then gives up.

They are interrupted by another visitor, an older Lord. He's pudgy, with skin that looks slightly gray. He shares brief pleasantries with them, then takes his leave.

"I'm not bad with a bow," Guinevere volunteers, picking up where they left off. "Father seemed to think it was acceptable for me to learn to shoot an arrow."

"I'd love to see it sometime," Arthur says, leaning down and unthinkingly kissing her shoulder. "Oh. Um, forgive me, I shouldn't have..." he immediately apologizes, realizing she may not welcome such familiarity right now.

"It's all right," she says. "I wasn't expecting it, but it was... nice."

He exhales, relieved. "You have very attractive shoulders," he explains. "And, your skin is like warm silk." His thumb strokes the back of her hand again.

"Thank you," she whispers. Then, she looks up at him. "Your hair is a little shorter," she says.

"I had a trim today," he answers, smiling, pleased she noticed.

"It looks very nice." She lowers her eyes, then looks up again. "You are probably the handsomest man I've ever seen," she quietly tells him, wishing to compliment him in turn. _He has certainly heaped praise on me all day._

"Thank you," he answers, his smile a bit bashful. He kisses her hand again, this time turning it so his lips press her palm.

The butterflies in her stomach awake and take flight once more.

xXx

After most of the guests have left, Sefa quietly steals into the hall, sent by Hazel, the head maidservant.

"Excuse me, my lord, my lady," she says, curtseying. Arthur and Guinevere both turn to face her.

"Yes?" Guinevere asks. She sees her maid standing there rather nervously, and the pieces slide into place. "Oh. Of course. It's time then?"

"Hazel sent me to ask if you are ready," Sefa explains.

"It _i__s_ rather late," Guinevere says, looking out over the hall. There are a few courtiers left, but most of the revelers are knights. She looks at Arthur.

"I defer to you, Wife," he says with a slight nod.

She pauses a moment, not wishing to look either reluctant or too eager. She is hovering somewhere in between the two extremes, unsure, almost wishing someone would simply tell her what to do. "All right," she says, standing.

Arthur also stands. He kisses her hand before releasing it, then watches her walk from the hall.

Merlin materializes behind him as he sits.

"How long?" Arthur asks, not turning around.

"I would say ten minutes," Merlin answers.

Arthur turns. "You're guessing?"

"Hazel told me how long she would need with the princess. I'm making an estimation based on that," Merlin says.

Arthur nods towards a chair – not Guinevere's, but a vacant one on his other side – and Merlin sits. He pours himself a goblet of wine while they wait.

"Anything you need to know?" the servant asks, futilely attempting to hide his grin.

"From you? No," Arthur answers.

xXx

"Such a tiny thing you are, my lady," Hazel clucks and fusses, removing Guinevere's gown in a very businesslike fashion. "Believe it or not, I once had a narrow waist and only one chin myself."

Guinevere simply smiles, allowing the matronly older woman and her maidservant to do their duty. She looks around her new quarters for the first time. Her belongings were brought up that afternoon during the wedding festivities. _It's nice. Similar to the guest room I used last night, but a bit bigger. Finer linens. Might change those drapes..._

"Sefa, bring that gown," Hazel orders, interrupting her thoughts. Sefa quickly brings the white silk gown Guinevere had brought along. It is modest yet attractive, with a wide scoop neck, short sleeves, and a flowing skirt. "Oh, that's lovely," Hazel declares just before divesting the princess of her shift. In a flash, she is covered again by the white gown.

"My lady, shall I braid your hair?" Sefa asks.

"No, no, no, it should stay down," Hazel argues. "The king will want his wife with her hair loose. Soft."

Guinevere slowly nods. She actually agrees with Sefa, her troublesome curls should be secured, but she knows traditionally, the bride's hair is supposed to be down. "I will be able to braid it myself later if needed," she says. "Would you fetch me a ribbon?"

"Yes, my lady," Sefa says, going to the vanity she set up a few hours earlier, arranging the princess' things in what she felt was an orderly fashion. She opens a box and withdraws a ribbon with which her mistress can secure her braid.

xXx

"Rather a lot of candles, isn't it?" Arthur asks, striding into his rooms.

"It is traditional. So I understand," Merlin answers, nodding to the younger servant who has just finished lighting the aforementioned tapers. He bows to the king and leaves.

"Who told you what the traditions are? I'm not even certain _I_ know all of them," Arthur admits, sitting in a chair.

"Gaius," Merlin answers. He stoops to pull off the king's boots. "He's the only one who really remembers your parents' wedding. Hazel probably does, too."

"Mmm," Arthur grunts noncommittally. He really doesn't wish to start thinking about his parents right now. Boots and socks off, he stands and walks to the sleeping quarters, Merlin trailing close behind. "Flowers?"

"Yes, flowers. The princess _likes_ flowers."

Arthur gives him an incredulous look.

"Sefa told me," Merlin explains. "I hope you won't be this testy with your wife," he mutters into Arthur's jacket as he takes it to the wardrobe.

"What was that?" Arthur asks, removing his belt.

"Hmm?" Merlin asks, feigning innocence as he returns to help the king change. "Are you nervous?"

"Not answering that question," Arthur replies.

"You... _do_ know what to do, right?"

"Not answering that question either."

"Here," Merlin holds up a soft linen shirt. It is new, as are the soft black sleep trousers he is wearing.

Arthur puzzles at him, the words "I don't sleep in a shirt" ready to spring from his lips. Then, he realizes the garment is not for his comfort, but for his wife's. _I wouldn't want to frighten her._ _She had never even been kissed before today._ He holds his hands out and allows Merlin to put the shirt on him.

xXx

Alone, Arthur paces, waiting. Occasionally, he stops and stares at the door adjoining their rooms. _What could possibly be taking so long? Do I even want to know what is going on in there?_

He walks over to the table and pours wine into two goblets. Just as he sets the pitcher down, the door quietly opens.

When he sees Guinevere, he's glad the pitcher is already on the table. He surely would have dropped it. His mouth opens, but he is unable to form words.

"My lord," she softly says, speaking first. She has a bundle in her arms, and a ribbon tied around her wrist.

"Arthur," he croaks, gently reminding her.

"Arthur," she repeats, her voice even quieter.

"Is... is that a blanket?" he asks. _Is there some sort of ceremonial marriage blanket of which I am not aware? Maybe,_ _it's tradition in __Cameliard__._

"It's the tapestry I told you about when I thought you were Sir Leon," she explains, setting the item on the table. "You don't have to look at it now if you do not wish."

"I'd love to see it," he says. "Wine?"

"No, thank you," she answers. About halfway through the feast, Guinevere had decided she wanted a clear head and stopped drinking wine. She spreads the tapestry out on the table. It is a family tree in a very literal sense, its thick trunk in the middle with the branches stretching out above and on either side. The branches on the Leodegrance side are shaped to resemble the griffin of their family crest. The Pendragon side resembles their dragon, but it is less complete. "It's not finished," she says. "I only had a week, and I don't have all the names yet from your side."

"It's wonderful," Arthur says, standing beside her as he looks down at it. "You made this?"

Guinevere nods.

"You are very skilled." He reaches out and takes her hand, gently turning her to face him while pulling her closer. He gathers up her other hand, and kisses her fingers. "Talented fingers," he murmurs, rubbing the slender digits.

"I'm glad you like it," she replies, her voice soft and breathy. The warmth from his fingers seems to spread throughout her whole body.

He releases one hand and moves it up to her hair, falling in dark curls around her shoulders and down her back. He takes a lock of hair and winds the curl around his finger. "You are so beautiful, Guinevere. I know I keep saying it, but..."

She looks down at their joined hands. _He _does_ keep saying it._ "I am pleased you think so," she answers.

He lifts her chin to look at him, and, on impulse, kisses her lips once. "But, you do not think so?"

"I am a princess. Princesses are always told they are beautiful even when they are not," she replies.

"I understand better than you probably realize," he says. He has pondered similar questions, not about his beauty, of course, but his skill as a knight. "But, trust me. You _are_ beautiful."

"Yours is the only opinion that matters now," she answers, smiling at him.

He slowly, carefully, wraps his arms around her. "Your opinion also matters," he says. "Why do you doubt?" She hesitates, unsure. "Please, tell me. I always want you to tell me what is on your mind, Guinevere."

"I don't look like other princesses with their flawless skin and silken hair. Slender noses. Faces that aren't... square," she finishes, flushing and chuckling a little because speaking the words aloud makes her suddenly feel foolish and petty.

"I see no flaws," Arthur says, moving one hand back to her chin, tilting her face this way and that as he pretends to inspect her. "You cannot possibly be talking about these," he pauses, kissing her nose, then each cheekbone, "darling freckles."

Guinevere starts giggling in earnest now as Arthur sets about attempting to kiss each freckle. "Stop!" she exclaims, laughing.

"Ah, there. That's what I was waiting for," he says, his arms still loosely around her.

"You were waiting for me to tell you 'Stop'?"

"I was waiting for you to laugh," he clarifies. "I haven't heard enough of your laughter." His smile slowly fades, and he dips his head to kiss her, pulling her close again.

When her arms slide up around his shoulders, he inches closer yet, breaks the kiss for a mere moment, then returns, his lips now parted.

She melts in his arms when she feels the tip of his tongue slip forward, slower than he had in the hall, languidly coaxing her lips apart, drawing her out of her shell.

When she opens her mouth for him and shyly meets his tongue with her own, he very briefly falters, then regroups, silently showing her what to do, teaching her how enjoyable kissing can be.

On tiptoes, her neck straining, she finally pulls away. "Oh, my..." she breathes. "That was..."

"That was just the beginning," he answers, just as breathlessly.

"I... I'd like to try it again," she shyly says.

He smiles and lowers his head to hers, kissing her with more passion this time, growing more confident. He was concerned she would be afraid, but is happy to find she doesn't seem frightened at all. This realization makes him feel braver.

As she slides her tongue against his, he thinks she may be nearly as excited as he. He allows one hand to slide down her back, coming to rest on her hip. She only startles a moment before relaxing again.

"Guinevere," he says, pulling away, his forehead against hers. "Should we...?"

She nods, unable to summon the words, afraid her voice will come out as wobbly as she feels.

_It is a good kind of wobbly._

He kisses her once more, then takes her hand and leads her to the sleeping quarters, closing the drapes between the two rooms once they are through.

"It's lovely," Guinevere says, looking around. "So many candles."

"I've been told it is tradition. The candles," Arthur explains, suddenly feeling a bit awkward now that she isn't in his arms.

"You can snuff some out if you like," she suggests, her fingers idly picking at the ribbon around her wrist.

"Maybe a few," he agrees. "May I ask why you have a ribbon 'round your wrist?"

"Oh," she says, dropping her hands. "It's for my hair, um, when we go to sleep. I put it in a braid so it doesn't tangle." She pulls the end of the bow and sets the ribbon on the nightstand.

"I see," he answers, extinguishing about half of the candles. He steps over to her, his hands outstretched. "Guinevere, I would like to apologize again for yesterday," he suddenly says, guiding her to a chair.

Her brow furrows as she sits. "Arthur, there is no need to apologize again," she says, watching with interest as he kneels in front of her.

"You are certain? I do not wish for there to be any doubt or... unrest between us as we begin our marriage," he explains.

She reaches out and gently brushes the hair from his forehead. "I understand your reasons for what you did," she says, allowing her hand to linger, stroking his cheek. "And, I bear you no grudge over your actions. I promise."

He leans forward, placing his head on her lap. "Thank you, Guinevere. I was prepared to beg, you know," he says, peeking up at her.

Guinevere is so surprised by this, she blurts, "How much wine have you had?" She immediately clamps her hands over her mouth.

Arthur laughs, turning his face into her skirts. "I am completely sober," he insists, lifting up on his knees, leaning up towards her. She bends down and kisses him.

She feels his hands gently land on her thighs. They are warm. Large.

_Hot. I want... I don't know._..

His hands move to her waist, never leaving her body, and he pulls her to her feet, still kissing her as they both stand. A moment later, she feels the bed against the backs of her legs and she breaks the kiss merely out of surprise.

"Guinevere?" he asks.

"I'm fine," she says with a nod. "The... bed surprised me."

"Oh," he answers, looking behind her to the turned-down bed with its pristine white sheets. He looks back at her sweet face, and feels a small moment of uncertainty.

Guinevere notices this and has a stunning realization. _He_ has never done this before either._ He waited... for me?_ She says nothing about it. "Should we...?" she asks, vaguely point at his shirt.

"Probably," Arthur answers. "I mean, if you don't want to _completely_..."

"Oh," she says. The thought of him simply rucking up her skirts seems wrong to her. However, the thought of completely baring herself to him is quite daunting. "Um, well, if _you_ are, then it seems only fair that I should also," she says, sounding braver than she feels.

His eyes light up in surprise, and she sees a new quality in them she hadn't noticed before. Desire.

_He desires me_. The thought sends a warm thrill through her body.

"Here. I'll just..." he says, trailing off as he yanks the shirt off over his head. He tosses it onto the chair Guinevere recently vacated.

"Oh..." The gasp falls from her lips unbidden. She's seen shirtless men (usually, her brother) a few times, but never like _this_. Never like _him._ Her hand comes up to touch him, but she drops it, losing her nerve.

Arthur catches her hand before it completely falls. He kisses her fingertips, then steps closer, pressing her hand to his chest. Over his heart.

Guinevere can feel it beating – surely faster than normal – beneath her palm.

He drops his hand and hers remains a moment longer. Then, she takes his hand and does the same, pressing his hand to her heart. He gasps audibly and his eyes darken.

His hand lingers a moment longer, then he slides it downward, boldly but tenderly caressing her breast.

Her breath catches, never having been touched there. It sends a delicious sensation through her, and she wishes for more of it. Summoning her courage, she turns around, moving her hair out of the way so he can access the tie at the back of her gown.

Without a word, he pulls the tie holding her nightdress closed in the back, and when she faces him again, the dress falls around her feet in a silken puddle.

He reaches for her, then remembers himself, pulling the ties of his trousers and stepping out of them.

They stand for nearly a full minute, openly and wordlessly gawking at one another, neither sure how to move forward.

"You are beautif—"

"You're so beaut—"

They both speak at the same time, and break off with a nervous laugh.

Guinevere looks at the floor, then back up at him. "I think... I think we should just..."

"Yes," Arthur agrees, having the same realization. He extends his hand. She takes it and steps towards him, placing his palm on her waist. He slides his hand around her back, pulling her close, wanting to feel the softness of her skin against his.

It is over sooner than either of them would have liked.

_The pain wasn't as bad as I had been led to believe,_ Guinevere thinks, inching her hand closer to his beside her on the bed.

_I hope she is not disappointed,_ Arthur thinks. He feels her slender fingers touch his hand, and he takes it, twining their fingers together.

"Are... are you all right?" he quietly asks, looking over at her. He releases her hand and lifts his arm, silently inviting her to move closer to him.

She scoots over, resting her head on his shoulder. "Yes," she answers. She likes this closeness with him, but words are not coming easily. _Are we expected to discuss it? I don't know what to say at the moment._

"I am sorry it was not more... pleasurable for you," he says, his voice still low.

"It was more pleasurable than I was expecting it to be," she admits.

"I understand it gets better," he says. "W-with practice..."

"I've heard the same," she agrees.

"I..." he pauses, reaching up and running his hand through his hair. "I would like for you to enjoy it. Being with me. This way."

She lifts herself up slightly, bravely looking down at his face. "I did enjoy it, Arthur. I..." she looks away, inspecting the suddenly-very-interesting headboard, "I think there may be _more_ to it, but... I liked it." She pauses a moment, swallows, and adds, "Did you?"

He startles slightly, pleasantly surprised at her bold question. "Yes. Very much," he says, giving her a gentle squeeze. "You are wonderful, Guinevere. And, you are also correct. There _is_ more," he confirms, smiling a little. "For you, I mean. Especially if... I mean, you know we _both_ have to reach... completion in order to bring forth an heir..."

She nods, dropping back down again, puzzled as to why she feels slightly disappointed at his words. She pulls the blankets up higher.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"Just a bit."

Arthur cuddles her closer, sharing warmth from his body. "Not only that," he continues, "but, more importantly, you _should _enjoy yourself. It _should_ be just as pleasurable for you as for me. As much as I enjoyed... this, I believe I would enjoy it more if you were similarly pleased."

Guinevere smiles against his chest, his words erasing the disappointed feeling as quickly as it arrived. "Thank you, Arthur. I... I'd like that," she says. Thankfully, when her former nursemaid spoke with her about her "wifely duty", she quite frankly told the princess that it is perfectly fine to enjoy herself in her marriage bed. "Some people believe a Lady should not crave attention from her husband _that way._ This is poppycock. Marital relations can be wonderful and you deserve pleasure as much as your husband. It can even be _fun._ Why do you think people are always sneaking off to do it, hmm?" the old woman advised.

Arthur kisses her forehead. "I do hope that I will be able to please you," he murmurs against her skin.

Guinevere feels her cheeks heat at his words. "I hope that I please you, too, Arthur," she quietly says.

"You already do, Guinevere," he answers, his fingers idly caressing her hip. "In many ways."

She moves her hand, pushing her hair away from her face, then hesitantly rests it on his chest, hoping he won't mind. Her elbow was getting stiff being bent so tightly against his side. And, she simply wanted to touch him.

"Would you like to secure your hair?" he asks.

"You don't mind?"

"Not at all," he answers, allowing her to sit up and reach for her ribbon. She feels him shift behind her. "In fact... may I?"

"You know how to plait hair?"

"I know how to braid ropes," he says. She feels him behind her, gathering her hair in his hands.

"All right," she says. _Why not? If he makes a mess, I can fix it._ She sits up, holding the sheets around her.

"I would like to tell you something," he says, gently combing his long fingers through her hair, carefully freeing the tangles. "Something I've never told anyone."

"Oh?" she asks, almost turning her head to look at him.

"I've never actually... been with a woman before tonight. You are my first," he says.

"Oh," she answers. _Do I tell him? _"I, um, kind of had a feeling that was the case," she says, deciding to be completely honest, since he did say he always wants to know what is on her mind. His hands stop moving. "You weren't as confident as I would have imagined an experienced person would be," she explains. He remains still. "I don't mean this as a criticism, Arthur, honest," she turns to look at him now. "I'm... I'm glad, actually. We can learn together," she finishes. Arthur meets her shy smile with a blank stare. Guinevere frowns, wondering if she had said the wrong thing.

"Sorry," he apologizes, snapping back into focus, having noticed the smile slip from her face. "I'm not insulted, I promise. I was merely stunned that you not only figured it out, but _told_ me you had."

"I debated it," she admits.

"I'm glad you told me," he says with a smile. "Despite the nature of our first meeting, I do value honesty very highly."

"You did say you always want to know," she points out.

"I did," he confirms. He leans forward, kisses her, then says, "Now, turn around. I can't do this with you looking at me."

She giggles and does as she is told. She feels him dividing her hair into three sections, his touch gentle and confident. "May I ask how no one knows this? I have heard rumors about how the knights talk when no one else is around."

"You do not want to know what knights talk about when left to their own devices," he confirms, slowly but adeptly braiding her hair into one thick rope. "As to your question, no one knows because it is assumed that I had done when I was 17."

"How is that possible?" she asks.

"Another story I've never told anyone," he says. "There was a girl, a kitchen maid. Her reputation was already... tarnished by another knight. That knight is no longer with us."

"He died?"

"No, he left. For Odin's kingdom. So, no great loss for us; no great gain for Odin. Anyway. She didn't deserve the treatment he gave her. Dragged her name through the mud. Disgraced her family. Ribbon, please."

She hands him the strip of fabric she had been winding around her fingers while he talked. "Was she with child?"

"No. She simply turned him down when he came calling a second time and he did not think she had the right, since he was a knight and she was a maidservant. There. All done," he proudly declares.

"Thank you." She reaches back and feels a very adequate – more than adequate – braid. "What an awful person," she adds.

"Quite," Arthur continues, drawing her back down to lie beside him again, carefully tucking the blanket around her. "So, I took as much coin as I could, went to her house, and offered to finance her family's relocation to Caerleon – the _other_ kingdom with which Father was still on good terms – so they could start a new life if she would agree to not deny she warmed my bed one night."

Guinevere furrows her brows, mulling over his careful wording. "You did not ask her to lie for you and say you..."

"Exactly. I simply asked her to be seen leaving my chambers at an inappropriate time and let the rumors circulate. Her mother agreed to let it slip that her brother in Caerleon was ill and they were going to help his family. Then, I arranged for their transport to Caerleon, complete with a letter of recommendation for the girl. She was their only child, you see. She's now the head cook in the palace at Caerleon, and Queen Annis speaks very highly of her."

"Did she ever marry?" Guinevere asks.

Arthur nods. "One of the stableworkers was fortunate enough to win her hand," he answers.

She smiles, his choice of words warming her heart. "I am glad for her. Did her mother really have a brother in Caerleon?"

"Yes. That's another reason why I chose that particular kingdom. He wasn't ill, obviously."

"Of course."

"So, the knights all thought I had done it, but... I hadn't."

She is impressed by his creativity and thoughtfulness in helping this girl and her family, realizing how much he cares about his people. _He didn't want this girl or her family to suffer._ "That was very thoughtful of you, Arthur. I'm happy it turned out well for her."

"As am I. That knight – if one could even call him a knight – did her a terrible disservice. No one deserves what he did to her."

Guinevere lifts her head and nods in agreement. "Of course, not. People should be treated with respect regardless of their station."

He smiles and draws her down for a kiss. "You are as wise as you are beautiful, Guinevere," he says, nuzzling her nose with his.

She smiles and kisses him. "My father told me he thought I would be happy here. With you," she replies. "I think he will be proved right."

"Your father is a smart man," he says, reaching up to caress her cheek.

"My father is not the only one," she answers.

He smiles, wraps his arms around her and hugs her, holding her close. "You feel just right in my arms," he says.

She hums contentedly, feeling very warm, secure, and, as her husband has just said,_ rig__h__t._ Good. She looks up at him, and kisses him, deciding to be bold.

He quickly deepens the kiss, then suddenly stops, feeling stirrings he's not sure she will welcome so soon. "Guinevere, I..."

"I'd like to try it again," she whispers, repeating her earlier words.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mmm," Guinevere hums, sprawled across her husband's chest. "We're getting good at this."

Arthur chuckles, kissing the top of her head. "So, my lady is pleased?" he asks, grinning smugly.

"I think it is pretty clear I am," she answers, sliding off of him. She kisses his shoulder before resting her head there.

He reaches down and pulls the blankets up over them so his wife doesn't get cold.

Nearly a week has passed since the wedding, and tomorrow Guinevere will be officially crowned Queen of Camelot.

"May I ask you something?" She lifts her head and looks at him.

"Of course."

"You said your father only gave you very basic information about marital relations..." she leaves the question dangling, unasked but implied. They've grown considerably more comfortable with one another, but she still finds she is shy about discussing certain topics.

"Ah. That. Um, yes," he hesitantly answers, clearing his throat and looking away.

"Don't tell me you are getting advice from listening to the knights' gossip," she says.

"Not exactly. I mean, I can't help overhear_ some_ things…" he confesses, looking at her again.

"Of course," she allows. "I have also heard a fair amount of talk amongst the maids when they think I cannot hear or am not listening," she adds. "Mostly in Cameliard, as I have only been here a short time."

"Oh?" he asks, surprised that women discuss such things.

She nods, giggling a little.

"To be honest, I have been thinking about… seeking out advice," he admits. "I… cannot help feeling there is more I can learn about… this."

She furrows her brows. "Who would you ask?"

"I was thinking about Gwaine," he answers.

Her eyebrows rise. "Gwaine? Really? Isn't he a bit…"

"Yes," Arthur agrees, not needing her to define the rakish knight for him. "However, he is _also_ one of my most trusted knights and can actually keep his mouth closed better than one would expect. Most importantly, he isn't embarrassed to discuss these matters."

"I suppose those are all valid points," Guinevere allows, still unsure if this is a wise idea.

"I promise you I would be discreet and make certain he knows our conversation is to be kept in strictest confidence." He sighs, then kisses her forehead. "It's a bit tricky, finding this particular kind of advice. Percival is married, and his wife is due to deliver their first child very soon, but he just doesn't talk about these things," Arthur continues.

"He doesn't speak much at all, I've noticed," she says.

He nods. "And, when the talk among the men starts to get ribald, he turns pink and closes his mouth. Or, walks away."

"The men do not tease him about this?" she asks, knowing that is one of the things men love to do.

"Would _you_ tease a man Percival's size?"

"Good point."

"There's Gaius, but somehow I don't think he would be very helpful," Arthur says, frowning. "My father's dead, not that he was much help when he was alive, so…"

"So, Gwaine," she finishes. "I… I'm not sure if I am quite comfortable with this idea." She pauses, remembering something. "Doesn't he think you had...?" She had asked him more about his little ruse, wondering why he felt the need to pretend rather than just find a willing partner. His answer of, "It is not an honorable thing to do. It's simply not _right_ for me to abuse my position to... slake my own lust. Especially when the goal is simply to say, 'Yes, I've done it.' However, to be completely honest, I wouldn't behave that way even if I was a commoner," simply confirmed all the things she had come to learn about her husband's character.

"He was not with us back then," he explains. "But, if you have any reservations, I will not ask him. We can simply… continue to find our own way. Here." He moves his arm from her hip and pats the mattress.

She blushes and turns her face into his chest. "I think I would like that better," she says, her voice slightly muffled.

He lifts her chin and kisses her lips. "Hmm. I think I would, too. We'll just have to be brave enough to… tell one another what we like and what we don't," he adds.

Guinevere notices her husband appears to be blushing slightly also, though it is difficult to tell in the dim light. The reminder that he is as innocent as she in these matters makes her feel better.

"I'm touched you considered asking for advice," she sleepily tells him. "Not every man would. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Guinevere," he says, kissing her forehead. He can see her eyes are closed. "Sleep well. You have a big day tomorrow."

"Mmm-hmm," she mumbles.

Arthur can feel her growing soft and heavy against him as she drifts off to sleep. He had worried that he would have difficulty sharing his bed with another person, given his tendency to take up as much space as possible, but was happy to discover it isn't a problem and he loves how perfectly his wife fits against him. Sometimes he curls behind her, spooning against her back, but more often than not they wind up sleeping as they currently are: Guinevere curled into his side, her head on his shoulder.

_It has been a good first week, and not only in the bedchamber._ The king marvels at how quickly it has gone. Thankfully, life outside the royal chambers has been uneventful, so Arthur and Guinevere have been able to spend time getting to know each other. They have dined privately together for every meal, discussing everything from childhood stories to plans to improve the drainage in the lower town. Guinevere has met most everyone in the castle and Arthur has seen her gift for remembering names first-hand. "That's amazing," he had commented after she greeted a knight by name. "You met him once, for all of five seconds. _I_ don't even remember his name half the time." She simply smiled and said, "It is a skill I have worked hard to develop." Later that night, she told him why. Arthur was honored she shared the story with him, and held her close, understanding her loss and wishing he could find the words to tell her his feelings about his mother. _Maybe someday_.

Arthur asked her to attend the one Council meeting he had, wishing to introduce her. She did not participate, only sat, watched, and listened, not feeling it was her right to speak up on any of the matters discussed since she was not yet queen. Later, Arthur privately asked her if she had any questions or comments about the meeting. She told him – after a small hesitation – she felt the policy stating that a person requiring aid must make his or her request in person was insensitive and needlessly strict. "Surely, if a man requires aid for his family, he is suffering under enough hardship already. He may be physically unable to travel to the castle to seek audience. He may not be able to afford to miss one moment of work in order to appear at the correct time. He should be allowed to appoint a representative to speak on his behalf if necessary." He pondered her words for a moment, then nodded. "I will re-open this issue at our next meeting so that you may present these very valid points to the council."

Arthur looks down at his wife, now sleeping quite soundly and contentedly beside him. _This is a good match, I think. She is kind. Wise. Noble. Beautiful. Her father may have sheltered her, but he has raised a wonderful woman and a fine queen._

_ I feel happy when I am with her. I like her._

She makes a small noise, her fingers curl into a fist, and she tucks her hand under her chin.

_I could definitely grow to love her._

xXx

"Which party is due first?" Guinevere asks, standing with her husband on the steps overlooking the courtyard the morning of her coronation, waiting for their guests to arrive.

"My money is on Cenred. Caerleon is a longer journey, so they would have had to stop overnight," Arthur answers.

"We should visit Caerleon one day," she replies.

"Is this a ploy to spend the night in an inn?" he asks, smiling down at her.

Her eyes widen. "You remembered!"

"Of course, I did," he replies, sliding his arm around her shoulders, his thumb reaching up to skim the side of her neck as it passes. He leans down, speaking softly into her ear. "I think a journey to Caerleon could be arranged at some point."

She smiles, her eyes closing at the feel of his lips against her ear. "I'd love that," she quietly replies.

He quickly kisses her cheek, then straightens up as a scout comes galloping in. Arthur tucks Guinevere's hand into the crook of his elbow and they walk down to learn who has been spotted.

"The party from Caerleon approaches, Sire," the knight reports.

"Thank you, Ranulf," Arthur replies. "Apparently, I was wrong," he says to his wife.

"Happens more than he likes to admit." Merlin has materialized behind them, speaking just loud enough for the two of them to hear.

Arthur turns. "Yes, _thank you_, Merlin, I rather think my new bride would have likely figured out that bit of information on her own given enough time."

Guinevere giggles behind her hand. While she was, at first, a bit surprised by Merlin's demeanor with Arthur while in private, she's grown used to it and has realized that her husband considers his manservant his friend.

"The guest quarters are all ready, my lord," Merlin informs. "Separate, but adjoining, quarters for King Cenred and Queen Morgana, as usual. King Caerleon and Queen Annis are in the south wing with Allard and Mithian each having their own rooms nearby. A few spare rooms prepared as well in the event of any unexpected visitors."

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur says. "Ah, here they are. Have you met Caerleon, Guinevere?"

"Once, briefly, when I was very young," she answers. "Only the king and queen. I have not met the prince and princess."

"King Caerleon, Queen Annis, welcome to Camelot," Arthur calls once the party is within earshot.

The horses stop and the king and prince dismount. They both assist the queen down from her horse, then the prince assists his sister.

"Arthur," Caerleon nods, striding forward, his queen on his arm, "it is good to be in Camelot again especially on such a happy occasion." He turns his gaze towards Guinevere. "You have grown up well, Princess," he says smiling.

Guinevere curtseys to the older king. He is about her father's age, with salt-and-pepper hair and beard and kind eyes. "Thank you, my lord," she replies.

"Annis, you recall Leodegrance's little daughter," Caerleon says to his wife.

"Indeed I do," Annis answers, smiling at the princess.

The queen is tall and beautiful with auburn hair as yet untouched by gray. Guinevere remembers being awestruck by her beauty when she was a girl. "It is good to be remembered, my lady," she says, curtseying again.

"I daresay Cameliard has done well with this match, but not as well as you, Arthur," Annis wryly says, her lips curling into a smile as she extends her hand. "Marriage appears to agree with you."

"It does indeed, my lady," Arthur says, bending to kiss the queen's hand.

"Mother is simply trying to convince me to consider taking a bride sooner rather than later," the prince interjects, stepping forward. "She thinks you will be a good influence."

"Why would I start now?" Arthur laughingly replies, clasping forearms with the prince. Annis smiles, shaking her head at them. "Ah. Prince Allard of Caerleon, may I present my wife, Princess Guinevere, formerly of Cameliard, soon to be Queen Guinevere of Camelot. Guinevere, Prince Allard and," he pauses as the other princess joins them, "Princess Mithian of Caerleon."

"I am honored to meet you," Guinevere says, curtseying, then offering her hand to the prince.

"I am humbled, my lady," Allard replies, kissing her hand.

"Princess Mithian, it is a pleasure to meet you," she smiles at Mithian.

"The pleasure is mine, and please, do call me Mithian," Mithian returns Guinevere's smile.

"Well, then, please call me Guinevere." _I like her. She seems to be lacking pretense of any kind._

"Arthur," Mithian says, greeting the king as familiarly as her brother had, only she steps forward and hugs him.

"It's good to see you, Mithian," Arthur answers, returning the hug. "It has been too long since we have visited."

Guinevere watches this with interest, but feels no jealousy. _Clearly, they have known one another a very long time._

"We try to keep you and Allard separate as much as we can," Caerleon interjects. "You get into trouble when you're together."

"Father, that was ten years ago!" Allard protests. "Besides, his hair grew back, so no permanent damage was done!"

"I'll tell you later," Arthur murmurs to a very confused-looking Guinevere. He pointedly clears his throat and says, "I trust your journey was pleasant?"

"It was uneventful, which I believe qualifies as 'pleasant'," Caerleon answers.

Arthur nods in agreement. "Your rooms have been prepared if you wish to rest or freshen up," he says.

"Yes, thank you very much," Annis says, nodding.

"Merlin will be your escort," Arthur says, indicating his servant still hovering nearby. He notices Ranulf approaching again, most likely to report that Cenred is near.

The party from Caerleon follows Merlin into the castle, reaching the doors just as Cenred and Morgana appear.

"It was an ox," Arthur quickly says.

Guinevere looks at him, confused.

"Allard and I shaved an ox when we were twelve. Well, half of him anyway. Don't ask how," he adds, holding up his hand, "but, we did. I didn't want you to think we shaved a man's head."

"Oh, dear," Guinevere says, laughing. "I don't think I _want_ to know..."

Arthur smiles down at his mirthful bride, giggling against his shoulder for a moment, then turns his attention towards his guests. He sees Cenred's familiar scowl. Beside and slightly behind him is Morgana, her face carefully neutral.

Arthur smiles at her, his heart going out to his unhappy cousin. While she returns the gesture, her eyes betray her true feelings as she looks upon the smiling pair.

_Not exactly jealousy, but something similar. Longing._ Arthur places his hand over Guinevere's at his elbow and says, "Welcome, friends. I hope your journey was pleasant."

Cenred and Morgana dismount and step towards them, each moving independently of the other as if they are strangers who happen to be traveling the same route.

"Arthur," Cenred nods, extending his hand.

"Cenred, always good to see you," Arthur answers, briefly clasping forearms with his ally. "Morgana, how are you?" he asks, smiling as he kisses his cousin's offered hand.

"I am well, Arthur," she answers, her smile still not reaching her eyes.

He nods, and Guinevere notices some sort of wordless communication pass between them. "King Cenred, Queen Morgana, allow me to present my wife, Princess Guinevere," he says, placing his hand on the small of Guinevere's back as she steps forward.

"I am enchanted to make your acquaintance," Cenred smoothly greets, taking Guinevere's offered hand and kissing it. "Allying with Cameliard is a smart move, Arthur."

"Um, yes," Arthur answers, Cenred's words reminding him that his marriage came about for political reasons. _It seems so easy to forget; she and I have been getting along so well._

"Lovely to meet you, Guinevere," Morgana greets, smiling at the other woman.

"I am pleased to meet you as well, Morgana," Guinevere answers, addressing the Queen of Cenred in kind. "Arthur has told me many good things about you," she adds, smiling.

Morgana offers her first true smile. Guinevere is struck by her beauty, porcelain skin contrasting with raven hair. "I wish I could say the same," Morgana says. She glances at Arthur speaking with her husband, then steps closer to Guinevere. "But, I'm sure he would have many good things to say about you given the opportunity," she says, her voice softer now as she acknowledges the affection she saw between them when she arrived.

Guinevere smiles and is about to answer, wishing to express interest in getting to know Morgana, but motion in her periphery catches her attention. She turns to see a servant stiffly standing nearby, patiently waiting.

"Oh." She reaches over and touches Arthur's elbow. He turns and sees the servant.

"Yes, George?"

"My lord, Merlin sent me to escort the King and Queen to their quarters," George replies in a clipped, formal tone.

"Very good. George will escort you to your rooms," Arthur says. "Morgana, I'm sure you know the way already," he adds with a smile.

She briefly returns his smile, nods, and follows George and Cenred towards the castle, trailed by pages carrying their bags.

Arthur heaves a sigh. "He barely acknowledges her," he says, wrapping his arm around Guinevere's shoulders. "If I ever behave that way, promise me you will... I don't know... slap me until I see sense again."

She leans her head against his shoulder. "Why don't I simply tell you? Seems easier."

He chuckles and kisses the top of her head. They turn to head inside.

"My lord!" Sir Gwaine yells, galloping into the courtyard. "A party approaches!"

They turn around. "Another?" Arthur asks. "Could you see their colors?"

"They are nearly here," Gwaine answers. "It looks like—"

"Elyan!" Guinevere gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. "Arthur, it's my brother!" she excitedly exclaims. "I haven't seen him in a month..."

Arthur smiles at his excited wife, never having seen her behave quite like this. In the back of his mind, he wonders what he could do to draw such excitement, such joy, from her.

Prince Elyan, a knight, and a servant stop in front of them. Elyan hops down and Guinevere bolts into his arms. They hug so tightly he lifts her off her feet. When he sets her down, he kisses her cheek, then looks her over, smiling.

"You look well, Gwen. I've missed you. I'm so sorry I couldn't be home to see you off," he says, holding both her hands in his.

"But, you're here now, so that makes up for it," she answers. "Come and meet Arthur." She releases one hand and tugs him towards her husband.

"Gwen, I've met Arthur," Elyan answers, laughing.

"Prince Elyan, it is good to see you again," Arthur greets, smiling. "I'm pleased you came." The two men clasp arms.

"I apologize for not sending word in advance," Elyan replies. "I wasn't sure if I would be able to make the trip. I've been very busy lately."

"Yes, the dealings with Gawant. Leodegrance was telling me some about it when I was in Cameliard. Not to worry; we've got plenty of rooms," Arthur says. "Ah, I see you've brought your First Knight as well. Sir... Lancelot, is it?" Arthur turns toward the knight standing beside the prince. He knows the knight more by reputation than actual acquaintance. Lancelot is reputed to be a skilled warrior and one of the noblest men in the land.

"Yes, Sire," Lancelot answers, bowing. "My lady," he adds, bowing to Guinevere as well.

"It is good to see you, Sir Lancelot," she answers, smiling. "And, Wesley," she adds, granting her brother's servant a smile.

"My lady," Wesley answers with a smile, bowing.

"My servant must still be busy attending the party from Caerleon, so it appears I must escort you to your rooms," Arthur says, looking around the courtyard for a glimpse of shiny dark hair bobbing above a red scarf. "Lancelot, perhaps you might enjoy staying in the knights' quarters?"

"Yes, Sire, that would be proper and I would prefer it," Lancelot answers.

Arthur nods and spots Gwaine now returning from the stables. "Gwaine!" he calls.

Gwaine flips his hair, changes course, and walks towards them, tucking his gloves into his belt.

"Sir Gwaine, may I present Prince Elyan and Sir Lancelot of Cameliard," Arthur introduces. "Elyan, Lancelot, this is Sir Gwaine, one of my finest knights."

The men all greet one another. With some amusement, Guinevere notes Elyan and Lancelot taking in Gwaine's appearance. Both men do an admirable job of hiding their surprise over his long hair and scruffy beard.

"Will you be competing in the tournament this afternoon?" Gwaine asks.

"Tournament?" Elyan's eyes light up.

"Yes, we're holding a small joust in honor of our new queen," Arthur says, placing Guinevere's hand in the crook of his arm again as he fondly smiles down at her. "You are both welcome to compete, of course. Prince Allard of Caerleon will be competing. King Cenred hasn't given an answer yet, but I suspect he will decline." The men all know that jousting is not Cenred's strongest skill.

"You are competing?" Elyan asks.

"Of course," Arthur answers, looking forward to showing off for his wife a bit.

Elyan and Lancelot exchange a brief look of agreement. "Well, then, if you have spare armor and lances, we would be honored to participate," Elyan answers.

"Excellent," Gwaine says, grinning devilishly. "Am I correct in assuming you wish me to show Lancelot to the knights' quarters?"

"Yes, thank you," Arthur says.

Gwaine nods. "Come on, then," he says to Lancelot. "I was heading there anyway. Just finished patrol, and..." His voice trails off as the two knights head off in a different direction.

"Interesting fellow," Elyan remarks as they walk inside.

"He certainly is," Arthur agrees. "Wait till you see him in the tournament."

"I look forward to _meeting_ him in the tournament," Elyan replies, grinning.

xXx

"I feel like I'm being prepared for another wedding," Guinevere says to Sefa while her maid meticulously tightens the ribbons in the back of her corset.

"It is very similar, my lady," Sefa agrees.

"The only difference is there's a tournament today. And, I won't have to say anything. I hope," Guinevere replies, chuckling. "Sefa, I'd like to wear Queen Ygraine's necklace again."

Sefa finishes the corset, then looks down at her mistress' lavender gown, unsure about pairing the emerald necklace with it, but she merely nods. "Yes, my lady."  
>"I am aware of the color conflict," the princess states, walking to her vanity, "and I do have an amethyst pendant I could wear, but it seems fitting to wear the jewels of the last Queen of Camelot today."<p>

"Of course, my lady. I did not know Queen Ygraine, but I have heard tales of her beauty and benevolence," Sefa says, setting the necklace in place. "One day, people will be saying the same thing about you, my lady."

"You are very kind, Sefa," Guinevere says, reaching up and placing her hand over her maid's. She gives it a friendly squeeze, then releases it.

"I am merely stating what we all have seen this past week, my lady," Sefa insists.

The princess blushes and looks down, smiling. "Thank you," she says.

"Thank _you, _my lady," Sefa answers, picking up Guinevere's hairbrush.

xXx

The coronation is a short affair. Guinevere is thankful for this. She has never enjoyed being in front of a large crowd or being the focus of everyone's attention, but is well aware these things are an unavoidable part of being a princess. _Queen. You're to be crowned queen toda__y__._ So, she hides her discomfort behind a serene smile as she was tutored to do, thinking of places she'd rather be.

Once again, the doors to the hall open with a clunk and creak. Once again, Princess Guinevere of Cameliard stands just outside the doors, taking one moment to observe what lies ahead.

This time, she clearly sees Arthur standing in the front with Geoffrey. She smiles, but it is not the serene smile she wears as a mask, it is a real smile brought on by the sight of her kind, affectionate husband of whom she has grown quite fond over this past week.

She walks up the center aisle, head held high, hair cascading down her back. Sefa styled her hair so it was mostly down to accommodate the crown being placed on her head and honor the preference of the king.

When she reaches the front, she kneels on the pillow that had been set there.

Arthur steps forward and Geoffrey offers him the red velvet cushion bearing the queen's crown. He reverently takes the royal headpiece and pronounces, "By the sacred laws vested in me, I crown you... Guinevere, Queen of Camelot." With extreme care, he places the jeweled crown on her head, gently setting it in place.

Guinevere shyly smiles up at him and he holds out his hands, looking very proud of her. She places her hands in his and stands, expecting to face the crowd. Instead, Arthur draws her closer, lowering his lips to hers for a kiss.

She is surprised, but makes nothing of it, assuming it must be a part of the ceremony. When they part, the very slight, impish smile on Arthur's face tells her that a kiss probably _isn't_ standard procedure.

He releases one of her hands and moves to stand side-by-side with her on the dais. Then, in a booming voice, he declares, "Long live the queen!"

His words are echoed repeatedly by the crowd.

Guinevere is nearly overwhelmed, but she simply smiles and tightens her hold on Arthur's hand, waiting for the cheers to subside. She looks out over the crowd and sees her brother standing in front, beaming proudly. She catches his eye and he winks at her. Her smile grows slightly as she fights the urge to laugh.

The crowd quiets, and Arthur announces, "The jousting tournament will commence in an hour's time. The winner of the tournament will earn the title of Queen's Champion."

xXx

Guinevere enjoys tournaments. She likes watching the men display their skill for sport instead of battle (though some do sustain injury), and enjoys the spirit of competition.

This is the first tournament ever held in her honor. She appreciates the tribute, but feels a little overwhelmed, and is glad to have Morgana and Mithian with her in the royal box.

Cenred, Caerleon, and Annis are there as well, but they are conversing among themselves at the other end of the box. Thankfully, Guinevere has found she likes both her young contemporaries. Morgana is a lot more outgoing when away from her husband and is surprisingly funny. Mithian is charming and friendly, able to put those around her at ease with her kind words and lack of airs.

After some announcements and fanfare, the tournament begins with tests of skill. The competitors hit targets, snag rings, and knock dummies from posts. They present the rings they've collected to their new queen who receives each one with a smile and a word of thanks.

Arthur is the only one to collect every ring. Elyan hits every target. Percival, with his immense size, topples the heavy wooden dummies like rag dolls. Prince Allard does nearly as well as Percival. Lancelot takes second to Elyan in the targets and third behind Arthur and Leon in the rings, but his noble bearing and handsome face win him the crowd's favor.

"He is very handsome," Mithian comments. "He is your brother's knight?"

"Yes," Guinevere answers. "Second in command after Elyan."

"Like Leon," Morgana quietly adds.

"Exactly," Guinevere says, setting the ring in her hands in the box beside her with the others. It was the last one from Arthur. She hadn't realized she was still holding it.

"Is he married? Betrothed?" Mithian continues.

"Mithian!" Morgana exclaims, still keeping her voice down, not wishing to attract Cenred's attention.

"I am not promised to anyone," Mithian answers. "Furthermore, there is no harm in appreciating a pleasing male form."

"You're not _appreciating_, you are _inquiring_," Morgana says. "There's a difference."

"Just making a mental list," the princess simply says.

"You know you will marry the man your father chooses," Morgana counters. "So, looking may be all you get to do."

Mithian sighs. "I know. Gwen – may I call you Gwen? I heard your brother use it." Guinevere nods, and Mithian continues. "Gwen, what can you tell me about Sir Lancelot?"

Morgana simply sighs and watches the servants raking the dirt clumps on the field, preparing it for the competitive joust.

"He is unattached as far as I know. I have seen neither him nor my brother in just over a month, but I very much doubt he would have found a prospective wife in that time. He's always been very... quiet. I never heard tales of him carousing in taverns or flattering pretty maids," Guinevere answers.

Mithian nods pensively. After a moment, her eyes widen with a sudden thought. "He doesn't prefer men, does he?" she asks, her voice a scandalized whisper.

"I do not believe so, but... I suppose it is possible," Guinevere says.

"He prefers women," Morgana softly interjects, her eyes still on the field.

Mithian turns. "And, how do you know that?"

The Queen of Cenred turns and looks at Mithian. "You did not see his face as he gazed upon Guinevere when he presented her with the rings he collected? He pines for a woman he cannot have."

"What?"

"What?"

Now, it is Morgana's eyes that widen. "Oh, dear," she says, seeing Guinevere's shock. "I... I thought you knew. Oh, goodness. It was so obvious to me, I thought... Well, I wouldn't have said anything if I knew you were unaware..."

"It's all right, Morgana, do not worry yourself," Guinevere reassures her, but her mind is reeling. _Is this true? No, it cannot be. We have rarely crossed paths. He always seemed to be focused on his work._

"I am sorry, Guinevere. I spoke out of turn, and I do not blame you if you are angry with me," Morgana says, misinterpreting the other queen's silence.

"No, no, I'm not angry with you at all," Guinevere reassures, reaching her hand out to her new cousin. Morgana gives her hand and Guinevere squeezes it reassuringly. "It was an innocent mistake. I was simply trying to think if there were clues I missed... not that I would have known what to look for, mind..." she trails off, chuckling a little. "Morgana, we are family now. Do not feel you need to hold your tongue about anything in my presence."

Morgana smiles and squeezes Guinevere's hand in return. "Thank you... Gwen," she says, gently releasing her hand. "For what it's worth, if Sir Lancelot is as noble as he is reputed, I do not think you have to worry about him making any inappropriate overtures."

"How long has he been a Knight of Cameliard?" Mithian asks.

"Let me think... The knighting ceremony was the first time I met him. I had just turned 14, so approximately five years," Guinevere answers.

"If he hasn't done anything _inappropriate_ after that long, he's not going to," Mithian says with a slight frown. "He's clearly content to pine."

"Someone is no longer interested," Morgana loudly whispers, and Guinevere giggles.

Mithian turns toward Morgana again. "Gallant knights are fine. Attractive, even. Gallant knights with tortured poets' souls are a right pain in the back end."

Morgana laughs, her hand over her mouth, and Guinevere presses her lips together to keep from laughing too loudly, not wishing to attract anyone's attention right now.

"Oh, it's starting again," Guinevere says, both relieved and disappointed. _I've never really had female friends before. It's quite nice to be able to speak so freely._

There are 12 knights competing in the joust: Eight of Camelot's knights, King Arthur, Princes Allard and Elyan, and Sir Lancelot.

Bors is defeated – and injured – in the first round. Guinevere stands, concerned for one of the first people she met from Camelot. As she peers over the edge of the box onto the field, the knight gives her a weak smile and wave to let her know he's all right. He hit his head and his horse nearly stepped on him. She sees Gaius waiting at one end of the field as pages carry the knight away on a board.

One by one, the remaining knights are eliminated. Gwaine takes out Percival, surprising almost everyone.

"Percival is big, but Gwaine is fast," Morgana explains. She has been providing quiet commentary throughout this half of the joust, and Guinevere learns Uther used to let her train with Arthur when they were children.

The concept fascinates the young queen, and she wonders if Arthur would allow their daughter the same privilege. _If we have a daughter._

Allard is narrowly eliminated by Elyan, who earns cheers from both Guinevere and Mithian. "I don't like to encourage my brother. He gets a large head if I praise him," the princess explains. However, she blows a kiss to her sibling, who laughingly waves it off.

Lancelot defeats Gwaine, but winds up losing to Leon. Leon then loses to Elyan. The knight congratulates the prince on his victory, showing his nobility and sense of good sportsmanship.

The final round comes down to Arthur and Elyan. Guinevere is very worried. She doesn't want either to lose. She doesn't want either to get injured. As the two men square up on either ends of the field, she bites her lower lip and clenches her fists.

Morgana and Mithian each reach out and hold one of the queen's hands.

The two men ride towards one another at top speed, lances outstretched as they charge.

Guinevere holds her breath and tightly squeezes her friends' hands.

At the very last second, Elyan raises his lance, conceding defeat to the king.

The crowd erupts in cheers.

Guinevere breathes, sagging in her chair.

"Oh, my God," Morgana gasps, and Guinevere realizes her cousin was just as nervous as she.

Arthur pulls his helmet off, his blonde hair damp and messy. He steps onto a small platform below the royal box, blows a kiss to his smiling queen, and acknowledges the crowd. A moment later, he raises his hands, calling for silence.

"The winner of this tournament was to be named Queen's Champion," he announces, laughing a bit. "And, since I am already king, I cannot claim that title, much as I wish to always be her champion." He looks up at her again, his grin turning a bit shy. "Prince Elyan has earned second place, but the queen's brother cannot be her champion. Well, perhaps he can in Cameliard, but not here in Camelot," he continues, still unable to contain his amusement at the unusual outcome. "Therefore, I hereby declare Sir Leon Queen's Champion."

The crowd cheers again, and Leon joins the king on the platform. Arthur waves Elyan up as well. Leon bows to the king, then turns to face his queen. Guinevere produces the new silk handkerchief she brought, and presents it to Leon. "Congratulations, sir knight," she says.

"Thank you, my lady. It is my honor to be your Champion," Leon replies, bowing. His squire ties the handkerchief around his upper arm.

Guinevere smiles at him, then catches her brother's eye. "Prince Elyan," she calls, and he steps forward. She reaches back for the rose she also had, originally intending to present both the handkerchief and rose to the champion. She hands the rose to her brother. "Congratulations. Father will be proud," she says.

Elyan takes the rose and kisses his sister's hand. "Thank you for your favor," he says.

Arthur says a few parting words to the crowd, and they begin to disperse. He congratulates Leon and Guinevere can just hear him say, "Not a bad prize for third place, hey?" followed by both men laughing. The knight leaves with Elyan, and Arthur steps over to the box to speak to his wife.

"You were very impressive," Guinevere says, reaching her hand down to him. He takes it and sweetly kisses the inside of her wrist over her pulse point.

"Thank you. I fear your brother may have defeated me had he chosen differently," he says.

"I was so worried," she admits. "I never want to feel like that again. My brother against my husband." She pauses a moment, looking to the side. Elyan is nearly out of the arena, still talking with Leon. "I _was_ hoping you'd win though," she admits.

"He would have," Morgana chimes in, carefully watching Cenred leaving the royal box. Arthur raises his eyebrows at his cousin. "Surely, you noticed Prince Elyan's tendency to feint to the left, slightly overcompensating for the weight of the lance," she adds.

Guinevere looks at Morgana in surprise.

"Of course, I did," Arthur immediately answers. "My problem was working out how to take advantage of that weakness without injuring him," he chuckles. He looks at Guinevere. "If he wasn't your brother, it would not be an issue."

"Thank you," Guinevere smiles. "I appreciate you not wanting to injure my brother."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he answers. He is still holding her hand, and he kisses it once more on the same spot. Her fingers curl against his cheek. "I am dirty and smelly," he suddenly declares. "By your leave, I will head to our chambers for a bath before dinner."

"Certainly," Guinevere says, smiling, grateful for his courtesy.

"I will see you – all of you – at dinner," he says, bidding farewell to the three young women. He hops down, hands his gloves to the already-laden Merlin, and strides down the dirty field.

"You are very lucky," Morgana says, smiling wistfully at Guinevere, Arthur's use of 'our chambers' further confirming her observations of the couple. "Arthur is quite fond of you and he pays attention to you. Treasure it." She rapidly blinks a few times, then suddenly turns and exits the box, not waiting for Guinevere and Mithian.

"That is why I am making a mental list," Mithian says, staring after Morgana. "Though he is not cruel to her, Morgana and Cenred's marriage gives me nightmares," she admits. She looks at Guinevere. "On the other hand, _your_ marriage to Arthur gives me hope. Morgana is right. He's very fond of you. I don't think I've ever seen him treat anyone the way he treats you." She pauses. "I mean this in a good way," she clarifies.

"I know I am very fortunate," Guinevere replies. The two women finally start walking from the royal box. "But, I wish I knew Arthur as well as you and Morgana do."

"Give it time, Gwen. You will. You'll get to know him _better_ than we do," Mithian reassures her.

Guinevere nods, thinking of the easy companionship her husband has with the Princess of Caerleon. The shared jokes and stories Guinevere doesn't understand. The familiarity, both in words and actions. _I want that._

_ Be patient. They've known each other their entire lives. You've known him a week._

"My mental list of prospective husbands is only something I do to keep myself sane. I am fully aware that I will marry who my father chooses," Mithian admits. "And, when that happens, if I have a daughter... I'm going to let her husband be _her_ choice."

Guinevere is silent for a moment, taking in the princess' words, wondering if she could be that brave with her own child. "And, if you have a son?" she asks.

"He may choose his own wife," Mithian declares. They step inside the castle. "I only hope my future husband, whoever he is, will see reason."

"We can always hope," Guinevere agrees. "Sometimes, hope is the only recourse we have."

Mithian puts her hand on Guinevere's arm. "I like you, Gwen. You are smart and you don't put on airs."

"Thank you, Mithian. I like you, too. And, Morgana. It was wonderful sitting with the two of you during the tournament," Guinevere replies.

Mithian smiles. "You and Arthur are a good match, and you'll be happy together. I may not know you very well yet, but I know Arthur. When he commits to something, he gives it everything he has. And, I can see he is committed to you."

"Thank you again, Mithian," Guinevere answers.

"You're welcome." She drops her hand and heaves a tired sigh. "How long until dinner? I should like a rest after all this activity."

"I think you have about two hours," Guinevere says.

"Good. I will get a headache if I don't lie down for a bit," Mithian says.

"Rest well," Guinevere replies, thinking she might do the same.

xXx

When she reaches their chambers, she remembers Arthur is bathing. She heads a little further down the corridor towards her private chambers.

_I have barely used this room. Haven't slept in the bed yet._

"Gwen?" Her brother's familiar voice breaks into her thoughts.

"Elyan," she says, smiling. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"This is your room, yes?"

"Well, yes, but I rarely use it. Arthur is bathing, so I thought I should leave him in peace," she says. Elyan opens the door for her, and she steps inside. "Thank you."

"I don't think he'd mind if you interrupted him," Elyan says, chuckling. He leaves the door open.

"Elyan!" Guinevere exclaims, trying not to giggle. She knows she is blushing. "Please, sit," she indicates a chair.

"I wanted to speak with you alone for a few minutes," he explains, sitting. "I also plan on having a bath, but I knew you would be available now."

There is a soft knock at the door.

"Yes, Sefa?" Guinevere asks.

"Excuse me, my lady, my lord. Do you require anything?" Sefa asks, standing just inside the door.

"Elyan?" The prince shakes his head. "Nothing at the moment, Sefa, thank you."

"Yes, my lady." Sefa curtseys to her mistress and the prince and departs.

"How is Father?" Guinevere asks, sitting beside her brother. "Is he looking after himself?"

Elyan smiles. "Father is doing well. Gytha is making certain he is being mindful of his health," he answers.

Guinevere returns his smile, thinking fondly of the matronly housekeeper who had taken it upon herself to act as a sort of nurse to the king when his illness became more advanced. "Good," she answers, nodding once.

"Gwen, I didn't seek you out to talk about Father," he says.

"I didn't think you had," she replies.

"Are you happy?" he asks with no preamble, no longer smiling. "Is Arthur good to you?"

She smiles. "Yes. I am happy. Arthur is sweet." she pauses, trying to figure out how to define her husband's behavior towards her. "Very... demonstrative."

Her brother's brow furrows in confusion. "How so?"

"He's much more openly affectionate than I would have expected, given his father," she explains.

Elyan nods. "Ah, yes. Of course. I must say I have noticed the way he frequently touches your arm or holds your hand," he remarks. "And, we all saw the way he was looking at you at the coronation. And, the tournament."

Guinevere nods, saying nothing about the tender touches and caresses she receives from him in private, but fears the color in her cheeks may give her away. "I... I like it. I'm unaccustomed to that kind of attention, but it's nice. I feel... appreciated. Cherished, almost." She pauses, thoughtfully looking at the ring on her finger. She remembers how he tenderly braided her hair on their wedding night. How he drops soft kisses on her shoulders whenever he has access to them. How he seems to hang on to every word she says. How he lights up when he sees her or feels the touch of her hand. "Sometimes, I get the feeling he is almost starved for affection," she quietly says, knowing her words will be held in confidence.

"Well, you do know he grew up without a mother, yes?" Elyan asks.

"Yes. Do you know how old he was when she died?"

Her brother shakes his head. "Not exactly. All I know is he was quite young. I'm sure Father knows, but he has never said. It's one of those items that is simply Not Discussed."

She nods, understanding. "Yes, of course. I won't ask him. If he wishes to confide in me, he will."

Elyan places his hand on his sister's shoulder. "He may. He thinks very highly of you. Everyone can see it. Even Lancelot mentioned it."

Guinevere doesn't quite know how to respond. The mention of Lancelot gives her pause, remembering what Morgana revealed at the tournament, and she briefly considers asking her brother about it. _No. No need to cause unnecessary tension. _"Arthur is very good to me," she says, answering Elyan's second question. She angles her head at him. "If you noticed how he looks at me, why did you ask those questions?"

Her brother smiles. "To make sure it isn't an act for the public like that idiot Cenred."

Guinevere's eyebrows rise. "If that is an act, he is not trying very hard. Morgana is miserable."

Elyan nods sadly. "He used to put up more of a pretense. Now, he doesn't care if people see the sham his marriage has become."

"It always was a sham according to Arthur. Morgana has never been happy with her husband," Guinevere says. She looks at her brother. "When you marry…"

Elyan holds up his hand, stopping her words before they start. "I will treat my wife with honor and care, hoping it will lead to love. I will be true to her, listen to her, and value her words. I cannot expect her to respect me if I do not respect her," he promises.

Guinevere hugs her brother, overjoyed to hear him say those words. "Thank you," she whispers.

"You are my sister, and I love you, Gwen. I will treat my wife the way I want your husband to treat you," he says into her ear.

She pulls away, wipes a tear that has fallen, and says, "Now, you just need to _find_ your wife." She grins at him.

Elyan laughs, throwing his head back. "I was waiting for that." He gives her a crafty look. "Why do you think I've been spending so much time in Gawant?"

Her eyes widen. "Princess Elena?" she gasps. He nods. "Oh, she's lovely."

He smiles. "I… I didn't want to do what Father did. I wanted to meet her, get to know her first. I think it's fairer to both of us, don't you?"

"Absolutely. Honestly, I consider myself lucky. _Very_ lucky now that I've met Morgana," Guinevere replies.

Elyan nods. "Father does feel badly about deceiving you," he tells her.

"I know. He hid a letter among my things," she says, smiling. "I'll let you read it." She goes to her vanity and withdraws the letter from a drawer.

The prince reads it, making occasional "hmm"s as he peruses the correspondence. "I didn't like the idea of Arthur deceiving you either, but I know he is a good man and his reasons were sound," he says, handing the letter back. He smiles. "I hope you did not forgive him easily."

"I forgave him, but not before telling him exactly how I felt about it," she says, then briefly elaborates on their conversation that first night. "Then, when he explained all his reasons, I had no complaint. And, he has been nothing but wonderful since. Well, he's a bit untidy, but I am able to look past that." She smiles and her brother chuckles.

Elyan stands. "I am pleased to hear you are happy. If you are happy, then I am content."

"Thank you," she says, standing and hugging her brother again. "How _are_ things with Princess Elena? You only said you wished to get to know her. How did you find her?"

He grins. "I think she will be a good wife and a fine queen."

She raises her eyebrows a little, silently asking, "That's all?"

"I like her very much," he adds. "She's beautiful, and witty, and can _really_ ride a horse."

Guinevere laughs, delighted for her brother. "Good. If you are happy, then I am content," she repeats his words.

He hugs her again and kisses her forehead. "I should go. I hope it isn't too late for me to have a proper bath before dinner, and I believe you wished to rest. I am preventing you from doing so," he says.

"It's all right," she replies. "I was hoping to catch a few moments alone with you."

The prince smiles at his sister. "See you at dinner, Queen Guinevere," he says, then heads to the door.

Guinevere watches the door close behind her brother, then turns to look at the large bed in the corner. She frowns, then walks to the door leading to Arthur's – their – chambers. _He wishes for me to spend most of the time in what he keeps calling our "shared chambers". I wish that, too._

She presses her ear to the door, but cannot hear anything. _He is my husband. I am not doing anything scandalous._ She opens the door and walks in.

"Ah, Guinevere," Arthur immediately greets her. He is mostly dressed, just slipping a white shirt over his head. "I was wondering where you were."

"I was in my chambers, talking with my brother," she answers. "I had wished to rest before dinner, but he delayed me. However, it was a welcome delay."

"I am glad you were able to spend some time alone with him," Arthur says, beckoning her closer. "I was planning on taking a small rest as well," he says, holding his hand out to his wife.

"But, didn't you just say you were going to g—" Merlin's words are stopped by a sharp look from the king. "Right. Rest. I'll just... come back shortly before dinner to make sure you are awake and prepared in time."

"Thank you, Merlin," Guinevere says.

"Come," Arthur says, leading her to the bed. "Lie down."

Guinevere does as she is bid. Arthur reaches down and removes her slippers, then joins her on the bed. He spoons behind her, his arm around her waist, and they doze until Merlin returns.

xXx

The next morning, they bid farewell to their guests. Almost everyone is still a bit tired, the feast having gone late into the night.

Queen Annis and King Caerleon are bright and alert, having retired before everyone else. They cited their age as an excuse to leave, and no one could persuade them otherwise. Allard and Mithian, however, are quite tired and not relishing the thought of several hours on horseback.

"Perhaps, you should have thought of that before challenging Gwaine to a drinking contest," Arthur says. "I thought you would have learned after the last time."

Guinevere's eyebrows rise in amused surprise.

"What happened last time is why I needed a rematch," Allard states. "In hindsight, however, it was probably not the wisest decision I've made."

"Not the most foolish either," Mithian chimes in. She is faring slightly better than her brother, being only tired as opposed to tired _and _hungover. "Remember the—"

"Yes, I think we _all_ remember that, Mith, thank you," Allard cuts her off while Arthur laughs and Guinevere, again, feels a little left out of the joke.

"I'll tell you next time," Mithian says, grinning at the queen.

"I look forward to it," Guinevere answers, grateful to her new friend.

Allard groans, and no one is sure if it is because of his current state or the memory Mithian has just brought up.

They say their farewells, Arthur and Guinevere receiving hugs from Annis and Mithian. Annis smiles at the young queen, and Guinevere thinks – hopes – she sees approval in the older woman's gaze.

When Annis softly says, "You will be a fine queen. Ygraine would have been proud to call you 'Daughter'," Guinevere almost cries. She blinks back tears and whispers her thanks to the Queen of Caerleon. _I would really like to learn more about Arthur's mother._

Cenred and Morgana leave a short time later, and their farewells are a great deal more formal. Morgana does hug Arthur and Guinevere, but Cenred remains formal and standoffish.

When Morgana hugs Guinevere, she tilts her face towards Guinevere's ear and says, "I know your marriage will be happier than mine has been. Remember what I said."

Guinevere nods, understanding her fellow queen's meaning.

"Please, come back soon," Arthur says as they mount their horses. "You are always welcome in Camelot."

Cenred grunts and Morgana smiles. Then, he steers his horse out of the courtyard, and the smile on Morgana's lips fades. She sighs and follows.

Elyan and Lancelot are the last to depart. The Prince of Cameliard hugs his only sister tightly, because he doesn't know when he is going to see her again.

"Love you, Gwen," he says, kissing her cheek before releasing her.

"I love you, too, Elyan," she replies.

"My lady, if you will permit me," Lancelot says, offering his hand. Guinevere places hers in it and he kisses it. She watches him carefully, looking for the clues Morgana said were so clear.

_His eyes maybe linger a bit longer than they should._

"Love to Father," she calls up to her brother. "Tell him I miss him and that he is right."

Elyan smiles and nods. "I will."

"Please, come back soon," Arthur says. "I'd love to meet both of you on the training field some time."

"Oh, that is an invitation I simply cannot ignore," Elyan says, grinning. He looks over at Lancelot. The knight simply nods, his face characteristically stoic. "Gwen, I will keep you informed about the, um, possible alliance with Gawant," he adds, his grin broadening.

"Thank you," Guinevere answers.

The prince, the knight, and the servant all turn to leave, walking slowly from the courtyard. Elyan glances back once and waves.

Just before they are out of sight, Lancelot turns and looks back. He sees Arthur standing with his arm around his wife.

Guinevere decides Morgana is right. She does not let it concern her, the reassurance that he has done nothing improper in five years allaying any fears she may have.

"I think Lancelot may be a trifle sweet on you," Arthur says.

Guinevere looks at her husband, shocked. "Morgana said the same thing," she says. "I honestly never noticed."

"I suppose it is a common enough occurrence," he allows. "Does it trouble you?"

She thinks a moment. "Not really. He doesn't seem inclined to act upon his... feelings, so I do not think we need to worry about it. Mithian said that since he hasn't done anything in the five years I've known him, it is very unlikely he ever will. Morgana agreed."

He nods. "Seems logical. And, since he is there and you are here, perhaps he will be able to find another Lady – an _available_ Lady – to admire."

"I do hope so," she agrees. She looks closely at her husband's face. "Does it trouble _you_?"

"No," he replies, his gaze clear and undisturbed. "I would be very stupid indeed to not expect other men to notice how lovely my wife is – inside and out," he finishes, his blue eyes twinkling with affection.

Guinevere smiles, returning Arthur's regard, then remembers, "It's funny. Morgana thought I knew. That's the only reason she said anything. Obviously, I did not," she adds, smiling and slightly shaking her head at her own obliviousness.

He chuckles and kisses her temple. "What _else_ did my cousin say?" he asks, guiding her back inside.

She's not sure exactly what he means, so she asks, "Can you be more specific? We spoke of many things."

"She whispered something to you when she hugged you goodbye," he says as they step inside.

"Oh, that," Guinevere says. She tells him what Morgana said.

He sadly nods, then says, "She told me she likes you very much and I am not to mess things up." He stops in the corridor, and places a lingering kiss on her lips. "I promised her I will always be a good husband to you."


	4. Chapter 4

"I will see you at lunch, my sweet," Arthur says, kissing Guinevere's forehead. He takes her hand and kisses the inside of her wrist once before sweeping from the royal chambers to lead morning training with the knights.

"All right," she replies. "Do not be too hard on the men."

"Am I ever?" he asks, a devilish grin on his face.

Their first month of marriage has been mostly good. They have had a few bumps in the road as they adjust to one another's habits and eccentricities, but neither is troubled by these little hiccups. They went from strangers to husband and wife in less than two days; their path will not always be smooth.

But, for the most part, their marriage has been going very well. Arthur is a kind and attentive husband while Guinevere is a sweet and dutiful wife. When one speaks, the other always listens. They support one another publicly, always keeping any concerns behind closed doors for a private discussion. Guinevere takes an interest in what is important to Arthur, and Arthur wishes to learn about what is important to Guinevere. They are openly demonstrative, often seen walking hand in hand or with Guinevere's hand in the crook of Arthur's arm; never parting company without some sort of kiss. In their private chambers, affection is willingly given and received.

The bed in the queen's chambers remains unused.

Two and a half weeks after the wedding, Guinevere's monthly arrived, and she tearfully informed her husband that they had not yet conceived an heir. He held her and stroked her hair, whispering soft words of reassurance and comfort to her until her tears dried.

"You're not upset with me?" she asked, knowing the wife is usually blamed if she is unable to conceive.

He shook his head. "No, I am not upset with you. I will admit I am disappointed, but please know I am not unhappy with you in any way," he answered, softly kissing her. "We will simply have to keep trying," he murmured against her lips, a sly grin forming.

She started giggling in spite of her sadness, and knew she would be all right.

That night, in bed, he held her as closely as ever, and she knew _they_ would be all right.

"My lady, your bath is ready," Sefa informs. Guinevere turns from where she had been staring at the door, lost in thought.

"Oh, very good. Thank you, Sefa," the queen says, walking towards the tub. She sees Sefa arranging some items nearby, and spies an unfamiliar item sitting on top of a folded towel. "What have you got there?"

"Um, it is something for you, my lady, if I may," Sefa says, picking it up. It is a small parcel wrapped in parchment, fitting easily in the maidservant's hand. "My sister makes soaps, and I help her when I have time," she shyly explains. "I, um, took the liberty of asking her to make this for you." She bites her lip and hands the package to her mistress.

Guinevere unwraps it and sees a bar of soap flecked with little bits of purple. She lifts it to her nose and inhales the scent. _It's perfect. The balance of lavender and honeysuckle is completely perfect._ With the soap closer to her face, she can see specks of yellow and pink – bits of dried honeysuckle flowers – mixed in among the dried bits of lavender flowers. "Thank you, Sefa. It's... it's wonderful. The scent is perfect."

Sefa exhales the breath she had been holding. "Thank you, my lady. I was so worried you would not like it or... or you would be displeased with me for taking such a liberty."

Guinevere smiles. "I am impressed with your initiative, Sefa. This is extraordinarily thoughtful of you." She starts walking to her desk. "Let me give you some coins for your sister's efforts."

"Oh, no, my lady... please. This bar is a gift. If you... if you like it, Fira said she would be happy to send more, and would accept payment only then," Sefa hastily explains.

Guinevere stops and looks at Sefa. "You have more of these?" she asks, holding up the bar.

"Yes, we made a whole loaf. It is impractical to make only one bar, my lady," Sefa explains.

"Of course," Guinevere says, nodding. "Well, I'd like the rest, so I will still give you something."

"Um—"

Guinevere stops again, and waits for her maid to continue.

"Fira respectfully requests that you try this one first before giving payment for any more, my lady," Sefa uncomfortably explains.

The queen smiles. "Very well. Your sister is smart. I can tell she cares more about the quality of her product than the quantity sold."

"Yes, my lady," Sefa answers.

"I will try this bar first, and soon, before my water gets cold," she says.

"Thank you, my lady," Sefa replies, helping her mistress undress. Once the queen is settled in the tub, she continues. "Fira also wishes for me to tell you that she has been working on a new recipe for a soap that does not leave your skin feeling so tight after bathing. She's been tinkering for months, and this," she brandishes the bar, "is made from that recipe."

"Oh, that is good news, indeed, especially when winter comes," the queen says. "My skin gets dreadfully dry then."

"I shall remember that, my lady," Sefa says, soaping a cloth.

"I know you will, Sefa."

xXx

Guinevere runs her hand down her arm, assessing the softness of her skin as Sefa fixes her hair. "Yes, I definitely require more of this soap," she decides.

Sefa smiles. "Thank you, my lady. And, I promise no other will have this exact scent. It will be yours and yours alone. The Queen's Soap. We know exactly how much of each ingredient we used."

Guinevere smiles. "Once you get better at your letters, you can write it down," she suggests.

"I did try," the maid replies.

"Good. Does your sister make all the soaps for the castle?" Guinevere asks.

"No, my lady. Hazel gets most of them from a man called Bronson."

Guinevere frowns. "I suppose she has a long-standing arrangement with him."

"Yes, my lady."

"Hmm. Much as I would like to change that, these things must be handled delicately. We will start with my soaps, and... I would like to commission some for the king, I think. Something with... frankincense and... sandalwood, perhaps? Fragrant, but still masculine," she thoughtfully says. "With this same softer soap recipe."

Sefa's eyes widen, thinking of the expense of those ingredients, and manages to respond. "Fira will be thrilled, my lady."

"Do not trouble yourself about the expense, Sefa," Guinevere reassures her, seeing her maid's face in the mirror. "I will see to it, of course."

"Of course, my lady," Sefa answers, setting the last comb in place. _She will. Why was I worried?_

"Now. To other important matters," the queen declares, standing. "Can you tell me where I may watch the knights train?"

"Um, may I suggest the training grounds, my lady?" Sefa answers, slightly confused.

"I wish to observe unnoticed, if you don't mind. I wouldn't want to be a distraction." Sefa hesitates. "Come now, Sefa, surely there must be a window somewhere. A place where the young maidservants might gather to watch the men train? In my father's castle, it was in the north tower."

Sefa presses her lips together to suppress the giggles that threaten. "Yes, my lady," she finally says. "If you would follow me."

Guinevere walks with Sefa through the now-familiar corridors of the castle, acknowledging the servants who bow and curtsey as they pass. The queen feels comfortable here now, not quite completely at home yet, but very close. She smiles at the realization, and makes a mental note to write to her father again. _It's been nearly a fortnight since I last wrote._

"Through here, my lady," Sefa says. "Um, if you please, allow me to check first," she adds, pushing the door open. "All is well, no one is watching today."

Guinevere smiles and walks into a small guest room, one she's never seen before now. Sefa guides her to a window and opens it for her.

"Oh," the queen gasps softly as she finds herself looking down at the training fields. It is close enough that she can see and hear everything going on, but far enough away as to not be noticed. The men are lined up, standing at attention, listening to their king give instructions.

Arthur paces in front of them, speaking loudly and clearly, his words floating easily up to Guinevere's ears. Sir Leon is apart from the ranks, facing the men as well, also at attention with his hands behind his back. Merlin is off to one side, sitting near the equipment tent, sharpening a sword. He pauses to stretch a moment, and his eyes catch sight of his queen at the window. He smiles. She returns his smile, but places her finger to her lips, indicating he should not give her away. He gives her the slightest nod, then returns his attention to the weapon in his hands.

"Right! Pair off! Newer recruits find a more experienced knight with whom to spar." Arthur's orders draw her attention back.

_He's so commanding. Charismatic. The men hang on_ _his every word._

She hears the scrape of a chair, and turns to see Sefa bringing her a seat. "Thank you," Guinevere quietly says, sitting on the edge of the chair. She leans forward, resting her arms on the sill.

She smiles as she sees Arthur gently, but firmly guide a young man towards Gwaine who is waiting with a grin on his face, idly twirling his sword. Gwaine turns the lazy gesture into a surprise attack the boy narrowly misses. Arthur quietly gives him a recommendation, slaps him on the shoulder, then moves along.

"Leon," Arthur calls, and his captain steps closer. Arthur draws his sword, intending to give a demonstration, and Guinevere leans forward further. She's only seen him in action once, on their journey here, and while she was very grateful for his skill, she was a bit too close to the danger to truly appreciate it.

Leon draws his sword and, in moments, an impromptu circle forms around the two men, each knight and knight-in-training wishing to watch what happens next.

"Now, the key is observation," Arthur says. "You must pay attention to _everything._ Your opponent, primarily," he pauses as Leon attacks. He easily deflects the thrust, and counters with his own. They spar for a few moments before he continues. "But, do not allow yourself to become _so_ focused on him that you open yourself to other threats."

Guinevere watches, fascinated. Leon is several inches taller, with a longer reach, but Arthur is stronger and faster. At one point, it appears as though Leon gains the advantage, but then Arthur manages to spin out of range and back in, striking Leon's sword in such a way that it causes the knight to lose his weapon.

As Leon's blade falls, Gwaine springs out from behind Arthur, forcing the king to illustrate his point.

Guinevere holds her breath, her hands over her mouth.

Arthur spins, simultaneously blocking Gwaine's attack and sweeping his foot across the knight's shins, tripping him.

The queen breathes again, dropping her hands. It is only then she notices Arthur had been smiling the entire time. She also sees Merlin chuckling to himself, shaking his head in a way that suggests he doesn't understand why the other knights keep trying to best the king.

"Nice try, Gwaine," Arthur says, laughing as he reaches a hand down to him.

"I just thought you should practice what you preach," Gwaine answers, taking the hand up.

Arthur nods. "Letting your guard down in battle, even for half a second, can be the difference between life and death," he announces. "You must _always_ be ready."

The door creaks open and Sefa hurries to turn away two giggling young maids. Guinevere doesn't mind if they see her, but she is thankful to her maidservant because she prefers to watch alone. She distantly hears Sefa telling them to "find someplace else to watch", but her attention is still focused on her husband who is circulating among the pairs of men again.

Though Guinevere had not intended to do so, she watches the entire training session.

The queen is very impressed.

_No wonder my father wished to ally with him. Our knights never looked like these men. I can see how the Knights of Camelot gained their reputation._

As the men begin to disperse, she stands. Sefa, who had been sitting with her the entire time, comes over to close the window and retrieve her highness' chair.

"Thank you, Sefa," Guinevere says.

"You're welcome, my lady. Did you enjoy the training?" the maidservant asks.

"Very much. It was very impressive," the queen replies, walking back to the royal chambers. She has some needlework she'd like to finish before lunch, and she knows Arthur will be expecting to see her there.

"Yes, my lady," Sefa answers.

"You do not find it interesting?" Guinevere asks.

"Not especially, my lady. I will watch sometimes, but it never holds my interest for very long. I enjoy the tournaments, but I'm sorry to say I find training sessions a trifle dull," the maid admits.

"Don't be sorry," Guinevere says, smiling. "You're allowed to have a differing opinion."

"Thank you, my lady," Sefa quietly replies, opening the door to the royal chambers.

"If everyone felt the same way about everything, life would be tremendously dull," the queen comments, walking to a seat near the window where she had left her needlepoint the previous afternoon when the light was no longer favorable.

"Of course, my lady," Sefa agrees, smiling. "Is there anything else you require this morning?"

"No, thank you, Sefa," Guinevere answers.

"I will go see about your lunch then," the maid replies, curtseying before she turns to leave, nearly running into Merlin. "Oh!"

"Sorry, Sefa," Merlin apologizes, his hands full.

Sefa nods to Merlin, curtseys to the king as he enters, then disappears.

"Ah, Guinevere," Arthur says, smiling appreciatively at the sight of his wife seated by the window, needle and thread in hand. He pulls his gloves off and walks towards her as Merlin tidies up, putting away the king's personal items from training.

"Hello, Arthur," Guinevere replies, setting her sewing aside to greet her husband. She stands and goes to meet him. "How was training?"

"Very good, thank you. We acquired a few new men a couple of weeks ago, and they are working out well," he answers, taking her hands in his. He lifts them to his lips and kisses them. "Mmm," he hums appreciatively, rubbing his thumbs over her skin, then lifting her hands to his face once more. He kisses them again, inhaling deeply. "Hmm." He pulls her closer, into his arms, and kisses her. "Something is different... good different..."

She smiles, saying nothing, waiting to see if he will work it out. She takes his hand and lifts it to her cheek, and his fingers automatically stroke her skin.

"Soft," he murmurs, leaning to kiss her again. "Wait." He ducks his head and tucks it into the side of her neck, his lips skimming her skin as he nuzzles her. "You smell _so_ good," he declares, lifting his head. "I mean, you always do, but it's... better. Stronger, perhaps? Whatever you did," he pauses, bending to kiss her neck once more, "keep doing it."

"I had a bath this morning," she softly answers, his attention to her neck making her tingle all over. "Sefa brought me some new soap."

Arthur lifts his head. "Will you get more of this soap, so you can always use it?" he asks. "Is it possible your skin is even _softer_?" he absently adds.

Guinevere beams, happy he is so pleased. "Yes, I have already made arrangements," she says. "Sefa's sister made it especially for me and only me."

"Mmm." He nods, moving to inspect the other side of her neck, now growing quite distracted.

"Arthur," she says, trying to remind him that Merlin is in the adjoining room and it is nearly lunchtime. "_Arthur._"

"Hmm? Oh, yes." He kisses her lips one more time, then releases her. He clears his throat. "I like the new soap."

She giggles. "I can tell," she answers. "And, I'm glad you like it because I do, too."

"We are still going to see Percival's baby this afternoon, yes?" Arthur asks, letting her return to her task. The child was born late the previous morning, a healthy and strapping eight and a half pound boy.

"Yes, assuming I finish this before lunch," Guinevere answers, indicating the soft blanket she has across her lap. "I am almost done." She wistfully runs her fingers over it, hoping to one day make one like it for their own baby. She cannot help her feelings of mild jealousy over the birth of this child, but reminds herself again that she and Arthur have only been married a month. _Patience._

"Excellent," he says. "That looks very good."

"Thank you," she says. "I hope Lady Corliss likes it."

"I'm sure she will," he answers, watching her stitch, her slender fingers making sure, even motions as she pulls the thread through, pokes the needle in again, and pulls the thread through once more.

xXx

"I watched your training this morning," Guinevere informs Arthur as they walk towards town, heading to Sir Percival's house. Merlin and Gwaine are accompanying them, walking slightly behind. She hadn't yet gotten the opportunity to tell him as their lunch conversation was taken up with talk of the next morning's council meeting and meal planning for the coming week.

"Did you? I did not see you," Arthur answers, looking down at her.

"I chose to observe from a hidden location," she answers, smiling up at him. "I did not want to distract you."

"Ah, the small guest room in the east wing," he knowingly answers.

Her eyes widen. "You know about it?"

He chuckles and nods. "Yes. As long as the servants aren't shirking their duties, it isn't a problem."

"And, if they are?" she asks.

"Hazel will sort it out," he answers, untroubled. "Did... did you enjoy watching the training?"

Guinevere shyly smiles up at him. "Yes. Very much," she tells him. "I was very impressed. You are quite good with your men."

Arthur beams under her praise. "Thank you," he answers. "I try to lead them the way I would like to be led, were I one of them."

"Your method seems very effective. Your knights appeared quite eager to learn and wished to earn your praise," she says.

"You think so?" he asks.

She nods. "I am certain of it." She pauses biting her lower lip. "My favorite part was watching you give your demonstration. The one you did with Leon."

"Truly?" he asks, surprised. She nods again and he adds, "The one where Gwaine tried to get the better of me, and—"

"And, you knocked him on his backside?" she finishes.

Arthur laughs, glancing over his shoulder at Gwaine. The knight just shrugs, flips his hair, and says, "I bested you once. I will do so again."

"Hold on to that hope," the king replies, guiding his wife towards the marketplace.

As the group approaches the busy area, they encounter more of the townspeople who bow and curtsey to their sovereigns, excited to see them on a rare walk through town.

"Merlin," Guinevere turns her head slightly, calling to the king's servant.

"Yes, my lady?" Merlin quickens his step to catch up to them.

"Do you know Sefa's sister?"

"Of course, my lady," he answers. "Fira, the soapmaker."

"Do you know where we might find her?"

"Yes, my lady. It is on the way," Merlin says, pointing ahead.

"I'd like to thank her in person and perhaps purchase a few bars as a gift for Lady Corliss," Guinevere explains to Arthur. "When my mother would make a visit such as this, she would always take care to bring a gift not only for the child, but for the mother as well."

Arthur nods. "That is very thoughtful," he says, smiling. "Is this another one of your mother's lessons you have kept in your heart?" he asks, his voice low so only his wife hears.

"Yes," she answers. "I don't recall much, but what I do remember is very important to me."

"I understand," he replies, placing his hand over hers at his elbow. "Sadly, my father did not leave me with much sound advice to remember," he sighs. "Still, he is a good example of what I should_ no__t_ do to if I want to keep my kingdom prospering."

Guinevere nods, not wishing to say anything against King Uther. She did not know him personally, and even though all she heard about him was not complimentary, she is keenly aware that he was Arthur's father and her husband did love the man as best he could.

Arthur drops a light kiss on the top of his wife's head as Merlin points them towards Fira's stall.

"My lord! My lady!" Fira exclaims, curtseying deeply when she sees her king and queen approaching. She nervously scuttles about, straightening up her stall, tidying up the already neat stacks of soaps.

Guinevere looks up at Arthur, and he nods, indicating she should proceed as she sees fit.

"Hello, Fira," the queen says, stepping forward. "I wished to personally thank you for the lovely soap," she says.

"Oh, you are most welcome, my lady," Fira says, clearly nervous. "Sefa and I were so nervous... I almost didn't let her take one to you," she admits.

"I'm so glad you did! I love it, truly. Sefa said you have more?" Guinevere asks, looking over the selection in front of her, searching for something Lady Corliss might like.

"Y-yes, my lady," Fira answers.

"I would like to purchase all of it if Sefa has not already come to retrieve it," Guinevere says.

"She hasn't yet, my lady, but... I do not have it here, I'm afraid. I am keeping it at my home as I have no intention of selling it to anyone else," Fira replies, blushing.

"Good," Arthur mutters behind Guinevere, pleased by this news.

"Oh, well, never mind then. I have given some coins to Sefa, so she will purchase them for me," Guinevere says, untroubled. She knows Sefa will also remember her request for bars of a special soap made exclusively for the king, but doesn't mention it, as she wishes them to be a surprise for him. "Please do continue to make them for me. Consider it a... what is it called?" she asks, turning towards Arthur.

"A standing order," he supplies.

"Yes," she agrees.

"Yes, my lady," Fira says, curtseying again. "Thank you, my lady."

"Now," Guinevere says, clasping her hands together, "I should like to purchase a few soaps for Lady Corliss. She had her baby yesterday, and we are on our way to visit her."

"Oh! I had heard the news, my lady," Fira says. She reaches for a bar. "I happen to know the Lady prefers this rose-scented soap."

"I would like... two, please," Guinevere says, reaching for a small satchel at her waist, hidden amongst her skirts.

"Yes, my lady," Fira answers, plucking two bars from the stack, leaving one.

"Oh, is there only one left? May as well procure that one as well," the queen comments, withdrawing some coins.

"Yes, my lady," Fira repeats, taking the third bar. She wraps them as neatly as she can with slightly trembling hands, and passes them to Merlin, who has stepped forward to receive them.

Guinevere presses some coins into Fira's hand.

"Oh... this is too much, my lady," Fira says, but before she can pass half of the payment back to the queen, Guinevere closes her hands over Fira's, gently folding the soapmaker's strong fingers over the coins.

"I insist," Guinevere gently says, smiling warmly at the other woman.

"Thank you, my lady," Fira answers, nearly whispering. "You are very kind."

"You're welcome, Fira," the queen answers. She releases the soapmaker's hands and turns towards Arthur. He smiles and offers his arm.

"Thank you, Fira," Arthur says, nodding.

"You're welcome, Sire," Fira answers, curtseying deeply, overwhelmed by this surprise and profitable visit.

As the group moves on, Guinevere observes, "That was most enjoyable." Arthur beams, happy his wife is taking pleasure in getting to know and supporting their people.

"Are there any other places you would like to visit?" Arthur asks.

"I don't believe so. Besides, I don't want to keep Percival and his wife waiting," Guinevere answers.

A little girl appears out of nowhere, a daisy clutched in her hand, arm outstretched. "My lady," she says, offering the flower.

They stop immediately, and Guinevere stoops to accept the blossom. "Thank you very much," she says. "What is your name?"

"Ella," the little girl answers.

"Ella! Oh, dear! My lord," a frantic woman, clearly Ella's mother, appears. She nearly trips over herself when she sees the king. She curtseys. "My lady, I am sorry—"

Guinevere smiles. "No need to apologize, mistress. Your little girl merely wished to give me this daisy." She holds up the bent flower, then tucks it into her hair. "No harm done." She smiles at the girl's mother. "And, what is your name, good woman?"

"Afreda, my lady," the woman shyly answers, curtseying again.

"I am pleased to meet you, Afreda," Guinevere replies.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, my lady," Afreda says, taking her daughter's hand and pulling her towards her just before the child wanders into the street.

The queen bends down again. "Thank you, Ella," she tells the girl, touches her cheek, then stands once more. "You have a lovely and spirited daughter," the queen says.

"Thank you, my lady," Afreda says, her voice trembling as she curtseys yet again.

"It seems you are as popular as I predicted," Arthur comments, gently returning Guinevere's hand to the crook of his elbow. "I knew they would love you," he adds. _It's impossible not to._

"Sir Percival's house is just this way," Merlin says.

"Yes, thank you, Merlin, I am well aware of where we are," Arthur replies.

A few minutes later, they reach the entrance, and Merlin knocks.

Percival presently opens the doors, having expected them. "Sire, my lady, welcome to my home," he says, bowing slightly as he steps aside so they can enter. "Gwaine. Merlin." He nods to his fellow knight and the king's manservant who are to remain stationed at the entrance.

Merlin passes the satchel containing the gifts to Arthur and steps back. The king and queen head inside, leaving the servant and guard waiting outside.

They follow Percival into a parlor where his wife is sitting on a cushioned chaise, holding their son.

"Please, don't get up," Arthur immediately says, holding his hand out, indicating that she should stay seated.

"Thank you, Sire," Lady Corliss answers, nodding deferentially from her seat.

"Corliss, allow me to introduce you to Queen Guinevere," Percival says, stepping beside his wife.

"Lovely to finally meet you," Guinevere says, smiling at the other woman. Lady Corliss is very pretty, with long, dark hair and blue eyes. There is a tiredness about her eyes, undoubtedly from childbirth and a long first night, but it does not detract from her beauty.

"Please, sit." Percival gestures to two chairs. The king and queen sit.

"I am honored to have you in my home, my lady, my lord," Corliss says. The baby fusses a little and she shushes him soothingly, kissing his forehead. He squeaks and settles back down. "I apologize for not being able to attend your wedding or coronation, my lady," she adds.

"No apology is necessary," Guinevere assures her. "I understand the midwife had you confined to bed rest, so you truly did not have a choice in the matter."

"Indeed not, my lady," Corliss replies, smiling. She smoothes down the baby's wispy brown hair.

"He is beautiful," Guinevere says, leaning over to look at the baby.

"Thank you, my lady. We have named him Garrett Robert," Percival says. "After our fathers."

"That is a good, strong name," Arthur comments, nodding. "He is already a strapping lad, and I imagine he will be a fine knight one day."

Corliss chuckles. "He is an armful already. His size is what had me bedridden."

"Understandably," Guinevere says. The thought makes her feel a bit nervous, but she reminds herself that Arthur isn't as massive as Percival, so she should not need to worry_._ "Oh, we have brought gifts," she adds, remembering.

"Yes," Arthur says, reaching into the satchel. "First, the traditional baby rattle," he says, handing the small, wooden toy to Percival. It has Camelot's dragon insignia carved on it.

"Thank you, Sire," Percival says, taking the item. It looks tiny in his large hand. He gives it an experimental shake and smiles at the gentle rattling sound before passing it to his wife. She looks at it, smiles her thanks, and sets it on a table nearby.

"Guinevere," Arthur passes her the blanket.

"Thank you," the queen quietly says, then presents it to Lady Corliss. "For little Garrett," she says.

"Oh, my," Corliss breathes, looking at it. She runs her fingers over the elaborate embroidered 'G' in the corner. "This is beautiful stitch work, my lady, thank you."

"You are most welcome and thank you," Guinevere says. "I must confess, I did inquire about your son's name when I learned of his birth so I could add the appropriate letter."

"This is your handiwork, my lady?" Percival asks, impressed. "In such a short time?"

"Yes," the queen answers. "Embroidery is something of a hobby of mine. Keeps my hands and mind from being idle."

"We are truly honored," the knight replies. "How many people can say their child has a blanket embroidered by the queen?"

Guinevere smiles, slightly embarrassed at the praise. "Well, at the moment, only one. One day I hope to make another for a little prince or princess," she softly says.

Arthur reaches over and takes her hand, stroking her soft skin with his thumb.

"I am sure you will have that opportunity, my lady," Corliss replies.

"Thank you," Guinevere says. Arthur squeezes her hand, then releases it. "I have one more gift." She reaches into the bag.

"More? You are much too generous," Percival says.

"This is for Mother," Guinevere says, handing over the wrapped bundle of soaps. "We stopped at Fira's stall on the way over."

"Percival, could you, please?" Corliss hands the parcel to her husband, who opens it for her. "Three? You are very kind, my lady," she says. "And, my favorite scent as well."

"I will confess Fira did give us some advice. And, please, call me Guinevere," the queen replies.

"Thank you, Guinevere. I am overwhelmed," Corliss says, blinking back tears. "Forgive me. Evelyn, the midwife, warned me I might feel more emotional than usual for a while."

"No need to apologize," Arthur reassures. "We are happy you are so pleased."

"Thank you very much, Sire. My lady," Percival thanks them both, nodding respectfully. "We—"

His words are cut off by a strong wail coming from the bundle in Corliss' arms. "Oh, dear. I was going to ask if you wished to hold him, my lady... shh, now, Love... but it seems it is time for his Lordship's mid-afternoon meal."

"In that case, we will take our leave," Arthur says, standing and offering his hand to his wife. "Percival, I don't expect to see you for at least one more day," he informs his knight.

"Yes, Sire. Thank you," Percival says, speaking over his hungry son.

"Corliss, it was nice to finally meet you, and I look forward to getting to know you better," Guinevere quickly says.

"Thank you, Guinevere, I feel the same," the Lady answers, smiling, bouncing her son. "Yes, one moment, little piggy..."

As Arthur and Guinevere follow Percival to the door, the queen spies Lady Corliss just beginning to open her bodice to nurse her son. _She is not using a wet nurse?_ The notion intrigues the young queen, and she files it away to one day mention to her husband.

"Thank you so much, Arthur," Percival says, clasping forearms with his king as he informally addresses him.

"Don't thank me; most of the praise belongs to Guinevere," Arthur says, smiling at his wife.

"Well, thank you, my lady," Percival amends, also smiling down at the petite queen.

"You're welcome. And, you may also call me Guinevere, Percival," she says.

His eyes widen slightly. "Oh... I don't know that I could, my lady," he says.

"Well, you have my permission, whenever you feel you can allow yourself," she answers, lightly placing her hand on his arm. "Your son is beautiful and strong, and I wish him happiness and health."

"Thank you... my lady," the large knight answers, smiling sheepishly.

Arthur claps him on the shoulder. "Congratulations. He's a fine lad..." he is interrupted by a short wail from the other room, "...with good lungs," he says, chuckling.

"He is, at that," Percival agrees.

"Have a good afternoon," Arthur bids farewell, and he and the queen join Merlin and Gwaine outside.

They walk a short distance in silence, then Guinevere speaks. "I think that's the most I've heard Sir Percival speak," she comments.

Arthur and Gwaine laugh. "He is quieter in a crowd than with just one or two," Arthur explains. "He once told me he doesn't feel the need to speak unless he has something worth saying."

"More people should live by that rule," Guinevere comments. Gwaine laughs again.

"Indeed," Arthur agrees, immediately thinking of a few people – all council members – who would most benefit from taking this advice to heart.

They take a different, less crowded, route home as the marketplace has gotten very busy. "How long have Percival and Corliss been married?" Guinevere quietly asks.

"Um... about a year and a half," Arthur answers just as quietly, understanding her desire to keep their conversation private.

"And, this is their first child?" she asks.

"Yes," he answers. "Sometimes, it takes a while," he adds, placing his hand over hers.

She nods. "I am trying not to put too much pressure on myself," she says. "I know we have only been married a month. But, you understand, as queen, it is a bit of a preoccupation as it is something expected of me."

"I do understand," he says, giving her hand a squeeze before gently removing it from his elbow, lifting it to his lips, and kissing the inside of her wrist. He wants to say more. He wants to tell her that if they are unable to produce an heir, he wouldn't hold her responsible. He wants to tell her that he will not turn her away if they wind up childless. He wants to tell her that she is just as important to him as their having a child. Instead, he kisses her wrist again and says nothing, fearful of overwhelming his new bride who has become dear to him, but is still very much a stranger in many ways.

xXx

"I didn't _really _get to tell you how much I liked watching you this morning," Guinevere says, pulling her lips away from his for a moment.

"Hmm?" Arthur asks, his eyes heavy-lidded and slightly dazed. "You said you were very impressed," he adds, furrowing his brows in confusion as he looks down at her beneath him on their bed.

"I was. But, I didn't feel it was appropriate to elaborate in front of Merlin and Gwaine that I also found your skill with a sword and command of your men to be very... attractive," she adds, blushing.

"Is that so?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

Guinevere nods, biting her lower lip, still unsure about how to express how she felt watching him. _Even if I __was certain__, would I be brave enough to tell him?_

"What did you like best?" Arthur asks, his voice a seductive rumble as he drops his head to her neck, lightly nipping her skin.

"Are you merely looking to be complimented, my king, or—oh!" She dissolves into giggles as he cuts off her words with a well-placed poke to her ribcage.

"I merely wish to know what my queen prefers," he answers, kissing lower, over her collarbones, making her sigh contentedly.

"As I said, the sparring with Sir Leon..." she says, finding it more and more difficult to speak as his lips travel her skin.

"So soft," he murmurs, a little distracted as well. "Mmm..."

She quietly giggles, then continues. "I... oh... I liked watching how your body moves as you wield your sword, your confidence with it... I'd never seen someone as skilled as... mmm..." she pauses as he keeps moving lower, "as you. I've never... ah... seen someone disarm a man like that..."

"Mmm-hmm," he absently agrees, his lips on her stomach and moving lower.

"And... Arthur, that tickles! And, how you didn't let Gwaine get the better of—Arthur, what are you—oh!"


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, no," Arthur groans, sitting at his desk reading a parchment. He drops the page and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"What is it, Arthur?" Guinevere asks, seated at her vanity while Sefa finishes arranging her hair.

"King Olaf," he says from behind his hand.

The queen waits until Sefa sets the last comb in place and steps back. "Thank you, Sefa," Guinevere says, standing.

The maidservant curtseys and leaves the king and queen in privacy.

"What of King Olaf?"

"He's coming to discuss an alliance," Arthur says, dropping his hand and looking at his approaching wife. He smiles. "You look beautiful, my sweet."

"Thank you," she answers. "If Olaf is coming to discuss an alliance, why the 'Oh, no'?" she asks, confused.

Arthur groans and opens the bottom drawer of his desk. "Something I neglected to mention to you because I figured it was irrelevant. And, to be honest, I forgot," he says, rifling through the drawer, looking for the correct missive. "Ah." He hands it to Guinevere. "When I returned from Cameliard after the battle, this was waiting for me. You may recall that is when I had made the arrangements with your father for our alliance and _your_ lovely hand."

Guinevere's smile fades as she reads the correspondence. King Olaf had written to offer Arthur the hand of his daughter, Vivian, in order to form an alliance with his kingdom. "Oh, dear. This was unfortunate timing indeed." She looks up at Arthur. "For them, I mean." She hands him the parchment.

Arthur nods and shoves the message back into the drawer. "I replied immediately, of course, saying I had just promised myself to you, but still wished to discuss possible avenues for an alliance with them. Olaf is... well, he's a bit of a blustering tyrant, but his kingdom is strong and, more importantly, on the coast, so an agreement would improve trade for us."

"Yes, that would be very helpful," Guinevere says. The royal couple has been married for two months now, and the new queen has learned quite a bit about Camelot and how she operates. Guinevere's wisdom and practicality have earned her the respect of the council who now pay her the same regard as they do their king. She realized this when they stopped checking with Arthur to see if he agreed with what she had said before replying to her.

"I hadn't gotten a response from him until this morning," Arthur concludes, lifting the parchment again.

Guinevere walks around the desk and leans over, reading the message. "Next week," she murmurs. "At least, we have sufficient notice."

He wraps his arm around her waist, leaning his head against her hip. "There is that," he allows. Then, he pulls her down onto his lap.

"Arthur!" she squeals, surprised, then leans down to meet his lips. She looks at him a moment, tracing her fingers across his brow in an attempt to erase the worry there. "May I ask you something?" she softly asks.

"Always."

"Have you... have you met Princess Vivian?"

"No, I haven't," he answers. "I hear she is beautiful, but little else is said of her."

Guinevere nods. "I have heard the same. I believe she is younger than me by a year."

He looks at his wife, realizing he doesn't know her age. "How old are you?"

She smiles. "Nineteen. You?"

"Twenty-two," he says. Then, he sighs. "Too young to be a king, I sometimes think."

She kisses his forehead. "Nonsense," she says. "You are doing an excellent job especially considering what you inherited."

"Thank you," he says, looking up, his eyes softening from troubled to tender as he gazes at her. He reaches up and traces her cheek with his finger.

"We have a council meeting soon," she reminds him, catching his hand in hers.

He merely nods, then moves her hair away from her neck so he can kiss it. "I need your help," he says, nuzzling her.

"Of course, but with what?" she asks, her hand coming up to cradle his head, her fingers sliding through his soft hair.

"Something we can offer Olaf," he says. "Since I am no longer available, what do we have that he might desire? From what of ours could he benefit?" He sighs and rests his head on her shoulder.

"Hmm," she replies, her fingers picking through his hair. "I will give it some thought. You know your kingdom better than I, but I will think on it."

"Thank you. I am hoping your fresh perspective will yield fresh ideas. You have a way of seeing things I sometimes miss," he says. There is a knock on the door. "Come in, Merlin," he calls.

The door creaks open and the servant steps inside. "How did you know it was me?" he asks, not thrown off at all by the sight of the queen on Arthur's lap.

"You're here to tell us it's time for the Council meeting, are you not?" Arthur replies.

"Um... yes."

"Well, then, I suppose we should go," the king says. He leans up, kisses Guinevere, and helps her to her feet before rising.

xXx

A week later, Arthur and Guinevere are standing in the courtyard, awaiting the arrival of King Olaf.

"Oh. Um, when I said Olaf is a blustering tyrant, I was being kind," Arthur comments.

Guinevere looks up at him, incredulous.

"Sorry. I should have told you earlier than just before you meet him," he says. "I didn't think of it until now."

"Well, I suppose short notice is better than none at all," she answers with a sigh, wondering if there is anything else her husband has forgotten to tell her.

"I am sorry, my sweet," he apologizes again, leaning down to kiss her cheek just as Olaf's party arrives.

The King and Queen of Camelot step forward to meet them, but stop after two steps.

Olaf has brought his daughter along. They quickly recover from their surprise at the sight of the young, blonde princess riding beside her scowling father, and continue forward.

Princess Vivian is as beautiful as she is reputed to be. Porcelain skin, large, bright blue eyes, tiny, pert nose, all surrounded by golden curls cascading over her dainty shoulders.

"King Olaf, welcome to Camelot," Arthur greets, smiling as the king dismounts. One of Olaf's knights assists the princess down from her horse. She takes her father's hand and joins them.

"Arthur," Olaf nods at the young king. "May I present my daughter, Vivian."

"This is a pleasant surprise indeed," Arthur politely greets, quickly and lightly kissing Vivian's offered hand. "And, please allow me to introduce my wife, Queen Guinevere," he says, placing his hand on the small of his wife's back.

"Pleased to meet you, my lord," Guinevere gracefully curtseys and offers her hand, which Olaf kisses. "And, Princess Vivian, welcome," she adds, smiling at his daughter.

Vivian pauses, coolly appraising the queen before answering. "Yes. Thank you," she says. Her voice is high and musical, almost childlike. She does not smile at Guinevere.

"Forgive us, but we did not anticipate your bringing the princess with you," Arthur says to Olaf, then addresses Vivian. "However, it should not take long for us to prepare a suitable room for you."

"I certainly hope not," Vivian says.

"That will be fine," Olaf answers, his voice gruff as his words slightly overlaps his daughter's. "I apologize for not sending word of her presence on this visit. Last night, as I was making my preparations to leave, she rather insisted on accompanying me."

"It is no trouble," Arthur replies.

"I will have my personal maidservant see to it," Guinevere assures, smiling at the princess.

"Hmm," Vivian answers, still not returning Guinevere's smile.

"Well, then," Arthur says, "If you would follow me." He turns around, meeting his wife's eyes for just a moment, but in that moment, a silent understanding passes between them.

Vivian is, indeed,_ no__t_ a pleasant surprise. Not at all.

xXx

Guinevere had thankfully spotted Sefa as soon as they entered the castle, and dispatched her to find Hazel and quickly make ready a room for Vivian near Olaf's, hastily whispering, "It must be absolutely immaculate. Please," before hurrying back to join her husband.

Olaf had wished to begin negotiations straight away and left their belongings in the hands of Camelot's servants. Arthur leads the group into the great hall where a table has been set up for them. Olaf and Vivian take seats on one side, Arthur and Guinevere on the other. The two knights Olaf had brought along as protection and escort stand in the background.

"Thank you for agreeing to this meeting," Olaf begins.

"Thank _you_ for suggesting it," Arthur replies. "I am sorry your initial offer could not be met, but I was quite pleased to read in your second message that you still wished to come to some sort of agreement resulting in an alliance."

"Yes. As you know, your father was no friend of mine," the older king says. "He turned his back on my kingdom one time too many when he could have easily given us aid, and I cannot forgive him for that." He holds up his hand to stop Arthur from interjecting, and the young king closes his mouth and listens. "However, I have heard positive things about your reign, short though it has been. Caerleon and Cenred are still by your side, but that is to be expected. Still, Queen Annis, for whom I have nothing but respect, speaks so highly of you one would think you were her own son."

"Oh," Arthur blinks his surprise at this news.

Olaf makes an acknowledging grunt and glances at his daughter who looks supremely bored. He looks across at Guinevere, and is impressed to see the young queen listening politely and attentively. He turns his attention back to Arthur. "Honestly, it was Leodegrance who truly made me take notice. Well, Cameliard's battle with Odin, to be specific."

"You were surprised we assisted them," Arthur comments.

"Mmm." Olaf nods. "Queen Guinevere, you may not know this, but your father and I were acquainted when we were young."

"I did not realize that, my lord," Guinevere replies.

"Leodegrance is a good man and a fine king. I have nothing but respect for him. When word reached my ears that Camelot came to Cameliard's aid, I decided to write to you." Olaf looks at Guinevere a second time. "However, it seems Leodegrance got the better of me," he huffs a short laugh. "Again."

Guinevere is curious about what he means by "again", but chooses not to ask about it.

"He had the advantage of proximity," Arthur says, smiling. He moves his leg under the table and gently presses his knee against his wife's, hoping to convey that he thinks of her more than simply a bargaining tool for alliance. He sees her slight smile out of the corner of his eye and is fairly sure she knows.

"Indeed," Olaf agrees. "That and the ability to look past his feelings for Uther to be able to ask his son for assistance."

"I learned much from my father," Arthur begins, leaning back in his chair. "Primarily, how _not_ to run a kingdom." He pauses while Olaf barks a small laugh. "I watched my father turn his back on his allies, turn friends into enemies, and nearly ruin Camelot. Don't misunderstand, King Olaf. I loved my father, but I am not blind to his shortcomings. One of my primary goals as king has been to right the wrongs he had done. That being said, please accept my apologies for any insult or injury my father caused you or your kingdom."

"Thank you, Arthur. I appreciate the gesture, and am well aware that you are not your father," Olaf says, his voice turning uncharacteristically gentle.

Arthur nods. "Thank you for your consideration. I'm sure there are others who will not be as open-minded."

Olaf nods. "Perhaps. Now that we've got that sorted, I should like to discuss terms," Olaf begins, back to his usual demeanor.

Vivian squirms in her seat, clearly wishing to be elsewhere and having no interest at all in these talks.

_I hope she is not his sole heir,_ Guinevere finds herself thinking.

"I do not believe I need to make mention of safe passage rights," Olaf continues.

"Of course. That is a given," Arthur concurs.

"And, I assume you have your eye on access to our ports."

"You assume correctly." Arthur waits, giving Olaf the opportunity to state what he desires before making any offers.

"What I would like from you is a guarantee of military alliance. If that bastard – excuse me, my lady – Odin should come storming into my kingdom, I want your word as king that Camelot's army will be there." Olaf sets his card down, and it plays perfectly into Arthur's hand. He and Guinevere had already come to the conclusion that Camelot's biggest asset is her military.

"Certainly," Arthur agrees. "But, I assume Olaf's forces would _also_ come to our aid should we have a need?"

"I wouldn't think your knights would require our assistance, but we will do our part," the older king replies.

"You are selling yourself short, my lord," Guinevere says, trying not to notice Vivian picking at her cuticles. "Olaf's army is strong."

The older king looks at the queen, surprised. "Thank you, my lady, but none can compare to Camelot's."

Guinevere looks at Arthur, and he nods once, a slight smile on his face. "Perhaps we can be of assistance in that area as well," she suggests.

Olaf looks at Arthur, puzzled, then back at Guinevere. "What is it you are suggesting?"

"Training. We send some men to train with your knights; you send some of your men to train with ours. Once a month, for, oh, three days at a time," she states.

"How many men?" Olaf asks, intrigued.

Arthur looks at the knights standing behind Olaf. They suddenly look very interested. He smiles and says, "Oh, five or six. Different men each time. This way, if our men do need to fight side by side, they will know _how _to work together because they would have already done so."

Olaf ponders this, then slowly nods. "It is true what they say about you then," he says at length. "You have a gift for strategy."

"He does indeed," Guinevere answers, placing her hand over her husband's.

"We are agreed then?" Arthur asks, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"We are agreed," Olaf answers.

"Finally," Vivian mutters under her breath.

"But..." Olaf starts, and Vivian groans. "I wonder if we have time for a small demonstration. My two knights have undoubtedly heard your idea, and I am sure they are clamoring for an opportunity to square up with some of Camelot's finest."

A slow, broad smile crosses Arthur's face. "It just so happens my knights are on the training field right now," he says. He lifts his head and calls to the two knights. "What do you say, lads?"

They snap to attention, unable to keep the grins from their faces.

xXx

"Father, I'd like to go to my room," Vivian protests as they walk to the training grounds. "Assuming it's ready," she mutters under her breath.

Guinevere hears the comment but ignores it for the moment. Her opinion of Vivian grows lower with each passing minute, but she must remain a good hostess. She gently squeezes Arthur's arm, and he places his hand over hers, acknowledging that he understands.

"Poppet, I'd like you to take part in this visit," Olaf replies.

"I intend to take part, Father," she replies with false sweetness, then whispers something under her breath that Guinevere cannot make out.

Arthur gestures to the seats Merlin has set up for them, and strides forward to address the men. Olaf's knights follow while Olaf, Guinevere, and Vivian sit.

He waves to Leon, and the captain stops the training and defers to the king.

"We have guests," Arthur announces. "This is Sir Erik," he gestures towards a tall, blonde man, "and Sir Seth," he indicates a shorter, powerfully-built man with swarthy skin and black hair. "They are visiting with King Olaf and Princess Vivian, and wish to have a little impromptu sparring match."

The king's announcement is met with cheers from the men.

"Always clamoring for a fight," Olaf comments. "I used to be like that."

Guinevere smiles, finding she actually likes Olaf despite his rough edges. Somehow, she wound up seated between the king and his daughter, and wonders in the back of her mind if Olaf wanted a break.

"I need a volunteer," Arthur calls, and, to no one's surprise, Gwaine steps out, grinning devilishly.

"I'll take on either of you. Or both; your choice," the rakish knight declares, his sword idly dangling from his hand.

_Seemingly_ idly. Guinevere now knows better.

"That is Sir Gwaine. One of our finest knights," the queen explains.

Olaf seems skeptical. "Oh?"

"One thing I have learned in my two months here is that looks are often deceiving," she says. "At first, I was somewhat put off by the lack of… grooming among the knights. Long hair, beards. Arthur looks past those details, considering them inconsequential, wishing for his knights to concentrate on their skills rather than appearance."

"Hmm," Olaf answers thoughtfully, watching as Gwaine and Seth pair off and begin to circle one another.

Sir Seth appears to have the advantage at first, but it doesn't take long for Guinevere to realize Gwaine is just biding his time, doing what he has been trained to do. Observe. Learn his opponent's patterns, strengths, and weaknesses.

At one point, Seth manages to knock Gwaine off his feet, and he tumbles to the ground right in front of Guinevere and Vivian. He quickly rises, flips his hair, and winks at Vivian.

The princess gasps, offended by the knight's brash behavior, and Olaf immediately bristles with anger. Arthur takes a step towards them, intending to smooth things over as the visiting king begins to rise, but Guinevere gently puts her hand on Olaf's arm, staying him. Arthur stops, watching.

"Please, Sire, he meant no offense," Guinevere quickly says. "Sir Gwaine is… cheeky, but harmless. It will not happen again. I promise." She glares at Gwaine, and he has the decency to bow his head and look remorseful before returning his attention to his opponent.

Olaf grunts his acquiescence, and settles back into his seat.

"But, Father..." Vivian protests, her voice a nasal whine.

"You heard the queen, Poppet," Olaf rumbles, and his daughter pouts with a small _humph._

Gwaine is clearly done toying with Sir Seth, and the visiting knight finds himself exclusively on the defensive, parrying attack after attack until he finds himself on the ground with the tip of Gwaine's sword pointed at this neck, his own sword lying five feet away.

Suddenly, Gwaine laughs, lowers his sword, and offers his hand to Sir Seth. The other knight takes it and stands, unable to stop his own mirth as he congratulates his competitor. Gwaine claps Seth companionably on the shoulder, and Guinevere is sure she hears the words "tavern later" escape Gwaine's lips.

Sir Leon volunteers to face Sir Erik, but Olaf has other ideas. "I'd like to see the mighty King of Camelot have a go," he booms. His request is met with cheers from the men, and in moments, Merlin is setting his master up with the appropriate equipment.

They choose quarter staffs instead of swords this time, which might give the taller knight an advantage over the king.

Guinevere is nervous and excited at once, looking forward to seeing her husband compete with a different weapon, but concerned because Sir Erik is as tall as Sir Leon and almost as broad as Sir Percival. _That would be a battle worth seeing. Erik against Percival._ She looks over at Camelot's largest warrior to see him sizing up Olaf's knight, and wonders if he is thinking the same thing.

Arthur twirls his staff in his hands, turning it hand-over-hand in front of him, walking in a slow circle. Erik tosses his staff back and forth from right to left, left to right, as the two men study one another.

Suddenly, Erik attacks, and Arthur is ready. Erik, however, wasn't thinking Arthur would be ready, and finds himself on his backside almost immediately. Arthur helps him up, and the two men continue, the king clearly having the advantage the entire time. He doesn't bother lulling him into a false sense of security the way Gwaine did with Seth; he means business immediately.

"You enjoy watching your husband in action, I see," Olaf comments, noting Guinevere's attentive demeanor and slight flush.

"Oh... um, yes, I do," she admits. "It's very... exciting."

"Mmm," the older king nods, not wishing to embarrass the young queen.

After landing on his rear one time too many, Sir Erik holds up his hands, conceding defeat.

"Well done," Arthur says, giving the knight an assist. "I expect you and Sir Seth to be in the first group of knights coming to train with us," he says, clasping arms with the other man.

"I will be first in line, my lord," Sir Erik answers. "Wouldn't mind trying my hand against him," he nods towards Percival, "some time, too."

Arthur laughs, looking over at the huge knight, who is now grinning and nodding his agreement. "I am sure that can be arranged." He turns to address the men. "All right, lads, that's our time for the day."

"Sire," Leon steps over as the men disperse, "what was that about them coming to train with us?"

"A simple training exchange with our new ally, Olaf," Arthur explains. "Once a month, I think. I'll tell you all the details when we get everything in writing. It should be a good experience for the men."

Leon nods thoughtfully. "Indeed," he agrees.

xXx

Lunch was a relatively quiet affair, the highlight of which was Guinevere learning what Olaf meant by her father getting the better of him "again". It turned out both men vied for the hand of Guinevere's mother, then Princess Eleanor of Nemeth, but Leodegrance won out. Olaf bore his rival no hard feelings, and even considers the other man a friend. "We haven't seen one another in years because of the great distance between our kingdoms and his health, but I think of him often," the king had said. "Perhaps, I should write." Guinevere had replied that she was certain her father would love to hear from his old friend.

After lunch, scribes were summoned. While the kings waited for the preparations to be completed, Guinevere escorted Vivian to her chambers. Olaf wished to briefly withdraw to his room as well, but Arthur chose to remain in the hall, knowing it wouldn't be a long wait.

"Well, it's small, but I suppose it will do," Vivian pronounces upon seeing her room. "For a night. If we were staying longer, I would insist on something _much_ larger." She runs her finger along the top of the vanity table, looking for dust. She finds none, but sniffs her displeasure nonetheless.

"Of course," Guinevere tightly says, discovering that the chirping timbre of the princess' voice has begun to grate on her nerves. There is a soft tap on the door. "Ah," the queen turns and beckons the maidservant forward. "Princess Vivian, this is Lily, one of our most experienced maidservants. She will see to your needs during your stay with us."

Vivian scowls, her lower lip jutting out. "I thought you said your _personal_ maidservant would be attending me," she protests.

Guinevere pauses, recalling her words. "My personal maidservant, along with our head maidservant, saw to the _preparation of your room_, Princess. I did not offer her services for your personal needs," she politely says.

"You misled me," the princess huffs, flouncing over to and plopping onto a chair beside the vanity. "How very unkind of you."

"I am sorry you were confused, Vivian, but I think you will be quite happy with Lily's services," Guinevere says, keeping a pleasant smile plastered on her face.

"Doubtful," Vivian replies, turning away to admire herself in the mirror.

Guinevere looks at Lily, an apology on her face. The maid nods in understanding, takes a deep breath, smiles, and steps further into the room.

"Shall we expect you in the hall for the official signing?" Guinevere asks, standing in the doorway.

Vivian shrugs her shoulder and answers, "Perhaps." She does not bother looking up, choosing to pick through items on the vanity table instead of giving the queen her full attention.

Guinevere merely nods and exits. She decides to go to her own chambers for a moment of quiet before returning to the hall.

She sits by the window, gazing out over the courtyard, watching the people bustle about. _I a__m very__ glad I didn't offer Sefa's services to that petulant girl. I shall have to find some way to show my gratitude to Lily. Perhaps,_ _a day off._

She turns at the sound of a quiet knock at her door. "Yes, Sefa?" she calls, knowing her maid's knock.

Sefa enters, closing the door behind her. "You are rarely in this room, my lady. Is all well?"

"Yes, I just needed a moment away from our guests," Guinevere answers. "I'll be heading down presently."

"Yes, my lady," Sefa answers. "My lady, may I speak freely?"

"Of course," Guinevere answers.

"It is not my place to say, but Princess Vivian seems like an awful person," Sefa whispers, as though she is afraid to speak the words aloud.

Guinevere smiles. "I fear she was spoiled as a child. This is often the result." She stands and smoothes her dress, lifting her skirts and fanning them lightly. "It has gotten warm today," she comments, patting her hair. "My hair often does not cooperate in the heat; is it still acceptable?"

"You look as beautiful as always, my lady," Sefa says.

"Only because you seem to have magical powers when it comes to getting my hair to mind," Guinevere replies, smiling. "Are you going to stay here?" she asks, noting the parchment in her maid's hand.

"By your leave, my lady," Sefa answers. "May I take this time to study since you will be occupied with our guests?"

"Of course," Guinevere answers, pleased her maid is taking her lessons seriously.

"Thank you, my lady." The maidservant curtseys and waits until her mistress has left before sitting down at the table to practice her letters.

Guinevere walks down to the hall, hoping she isn't late. She pauses when she gets to the doorway, hearing Vivian's voice coming from inside the large room.

"..._much_ more beautiful than _she _is, surely you must see that," the princess' voice is soft but unmistakable. Guinevere moves closer, peering in through the doors.

What she sees stops her cold. Princess Vivian is standing very close to Arthur – _too_ close – and it appears her hand is on his chest, toying with his waistcoat. She is coquettishly smiling up at him, batting her eyelashes, and speaking quietly. Guinevere's heart starts to pound. _What is __happening here__?_

"...saying is that what she does not know..." Her voice fades in and out, so the queen only hears snatches of her words, and none of Arthur's. _Is he saying anything?_ "…you and me…"

Guinevere can't see her husband's face. She can only see his back. _Why isn't he doing anything? Is this the same man of action I admired on the training field?_

"...rejection... hurt my feelings." Vivian ends this with an exaggerated pout. "But, you could make it up to me..."

The queen holds her breath, waiting.

_Arthur, why aren't you pushing her awa_y? _ Why are you just_ standing_ there and letting this happen? _ Guinevere blinks as a new thought occurs to her_. Unless, he_ wants _it to..._

Holding her breath, she waits another long moment. Vivian moves even closer to Arthur, lifting up on tiptoe. When he _still_ does nothing, Guinevere turns and flees, at first, confused and humiliated.

Then, hurt. Angry.

She doesn't see her husband's hands, balled into fists at his sides as he tries to be a gentleman and not shove Vivian away, because he knows the slight princess would fly halfway across the room if he did.

She doesn't see the horrified and disgusted look on Arthur's face as he steps back and away from the princess' advances.

She doesn't hear Olaf's booming voice yell, "VIVIAN!" because the queen is nearly to her chambers, willing the tears to stay in her eyes until she is behind closed doors.

xXx

The scribes had arrived, but were told to wait.

Arthur cannot find Guinevere.

After the debacle with Princess Vivian, the king excused himself to allow Olaf to deal with his daughter in private, and went searching for his wife. Hazel hasn't seen her. Merlin hasn't seen her, and suggests the king find Sefa and ask her.

Guinevere isn't in the hall. She isn't in their chambers. Nor, is she in any corridor he has checked.

On a whim, he opens the door to the queen's private quarters. Sefa jumps, dropping her quill.

"Oh. Sorry for startling you, Sefa. I'm looking for the queen. Have you seen her?" Arthur asks. Then, he sees the parchment and writing supplies in front of the maid on the table. "What are you doing?"

Sefa stands and curtesys. "Queen Guinevere has been teaching me my letters, Sire," she respectfully answers. "She allows me to study in here because I will not be disturbed."

"I see. Do you know where she is?"

Sefa bites her lip. "You might try the archery field, my lord."

Arthur's brow furrows, confused. "Archery?"

"Yes, my lord. Um, she seemed to be in quite a temper, if I may say," she shyly replies, wondering what has happened between her mistress and the king. _They are always so happy together._

"Oh, dear," Arthur says, seeming to deflate. "Oh, no... she must have... did she say anything?"

"Nothing that made any sense, my lord," Sefa answers, biting her lip. "I... I've never seen her like this. She... she kicked her slippers off... kicked them clear across the room... I picked them up. Then, she pulled on a pair of boots, um, hastily tied her hair back... she wouldn't let me help... muttered something about the archery field, and slammed the door. Sire." She sees the look of worry on the king's face and it scares her. She's never seen _him_ like this either.

"Thank you, Sefa. Please, return to your studies," he says, quickly exiting.

Arthur runs through the corridors and heads outside, ignoring the people calling to him or asking him why he is running. He sees the archery range ahead, a solitary figure in purple standing at one end.

He slows his steps to a jog, his feet soundless on the soft grass. He is walking by the time he reaches her, wiping the sweat from his brow as he comes to a stop, his eyes glued to her form.

Guinevere stands, her face pointed away from him, as she raises the bow, draws the arrow back, exhales, and releases her shot. It hits the target very near to center, among several other arrows in the vicinity.

Arthur's eyebrows rise, impressed. He takes another step. She takes another arrow and sets it into place. Her sleeves are shoved up, and he can see the slight muscles working in her arms and shoulders as she lifts the bow again, taking aim. The day has grown very warm, and her skin is glistening with a light covering of sweat.

She releases the arrow and it hits the target dead center.

"Guinevere," Arthur softly says, stepping closer. She stiffens, and he knows she's heard him, but doesn't answer, choosing to pluck another arrow from the quiver leaning against a bale of hay beside her.

"Guinevere," he repeats. "Please."

She turns, bow in her hands, arrow fitted in place, but with the weapon pointed downwards. "Please, what?" She looks up at him.

Arthur is taken aback by his wife's demeanor. Her cheeks are wet and her eyes are red, the hurt and anger in them are unmistakable. And, unbearable. _What did she think she saw? _ He swallows hard.

Guinevere mistakes her husband's hesitation in answering for guilt. Her eyes flash. "'Please step aside so I can be with my new mistress'?" she asks, her voice low and quavering.

"What?" he asks, stricken. "No! No, no, no... I... Vivian has deluded herself. I would _never_... she... she tried to... well, you obviously _saw_..."

"Yes. I did. Before I turned away in disgust."

"Guinevere, please," he tries again, his voice urgent. "It took everything in me to not shove her across the room. You must have left just before I made it _ver__y_ clear that I was not interested in her in _any wa__y_. Before Olaf entered and discovered what his daughter had attempted."

Guinevere stares at her husband, remaining silent as his words sink into and calm her swirling thoughts. Then, she slumps, arrow now dangling from one hand, bow held limply in the other. "Y-you did? He did?" she asks. Guinevere blinks away humiliated tears as the images of how close Arthur and Vivian were standing, once again, flash across her vision. She exhales a quavering breath and explains, "I... I watched as long as I could stomach it, Arthur, waiting for you to _do_ something, and when you didn't, I... I couldn't stand there and see what was to happen next," she explains.

"One second more, and you would have," Arthur gently says, stepping closer. "_You_ are my wife, Guinevere. I am a man of honor, and I made you a promise on our wedding day, in front of the entire kingdom. Even if I only made it to you, in private, I would still keep my promise."

She nods. "I know, but..."

"But?" he prompts.

"She's not wrong though," the queen says. "She is more beautiful than I. It is as plain as the perfect nose on her flawless face."

Arthur moves closer still, gently removing the bow and arrow from her hands and setting them aside. "Not to me," he quietly replies. "I told you once that when I first saw you, you took my breath away," he continues, taking her hands. "You still do. Every time I see you, I am struck anew by your beauty." He lifts one hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. "And, it's not just your incredibly lovely face," he says, turning her hand to kiss her pulse point, his favorite spot. "It is the beauty in here," he releases her hand and touches his fingers to her chest, over her heart, "and here." He touches her forehead. "Vivian may have a pretty face, but... it becomes unattractive when combined with an empty head and a jealous heart."

New tears are flowing down Guinevere's cheeks, no longer tears of anger and betrayal. "Thank you," she whispers, unable to speak further. He moves them, drawing her down so they are seated on the hay bale, and she looks down.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I would not blame you for turning to another if... if I am unable to conceive," she says, the words so soft they are barely audible. "Not necessarily Vivian, but..."

"Guinevere," he repeats her name, and for the first time, she _truly_ notices the way he says it. Like a caress. She can feel it rolling off his tongue and washing over her body.

She lifts her head, and he wipes the tears from her cheeks. "It's only been two months," he says. "I know it is important to you—"

"It is my main duty as queen," she says. "That is what I have been taught, anyway."

He nods. He has been taught the same, though likely not as... _strenuously_ as she. "I understand," he says. "But, sometimes we need to be patient." He chuckles then, and adds, "Look at me_,_ counseling someone _else_ to be patient. How my tutors would laugh."

Guinevere's anxious countenance melts into a weak smile and she reaches for her husband's hands. "I am trying. It's just... seeing Vivian with you like that... combined with my own... doubts... fears, I guess... it just upset me. Very much."

"Oh, Guinevere, I am so sorry you had to see that," Arthur says, pulling her into his arms. "I'm sorry," he repeats, softer, kissing her hair. After a moment, he leans away from her and looks into her eyes. "I wanted to tell you this last month, but... I didn't know how. I didn't want to overwhelm you..."

"What is it, Arthur?"

He kisses her, then says, "You are just as important to me as us having a child. _Just_ you. If we cannot produce an heir, I won't punish you for it. Won't hold you responsible. Won't turn you away. Or, turn to another. I promise. You are... you are too important... _too_ _dear_ to me." He thumbs away more tears, then kisses her once more.

"Thank you," she whispers again, leaning into him and squeezing him tightly. "You are very important – very dear to me, too," she adds. "I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions about you and Vivian. I promise I will never doubt your faithfulness again."

He returns her hug, turning his face into her neck, inhaling her scent. "You will never have a need," he says and pulls back to look at her. "I am not naïve or foolish enough to say that these circumstances will never present themselves again, to either of us. However, you will _never_ need to worry about my response, as I know I will never need to worry about yours," he finishes, gently touching her forehead with his own before bestowing soft kisses all over her sweet face.

Guinevere smiles her gratitude, her husband's reassurance as well as his kisses relaxing her. Then, realization dawns. "I'm all sweaty," she protests, attempting to pull away.

"Your skin merely has a glow about it," he says, bringing her back. He smiles when she snorts a tiny, unexpected laugh at his words. "In fact, I rather like it." He kisses her and adds, "Remember how you felt watching me at training?"

"Yes," she breathily answers, looking up at him.

"That's how I felt watching you shoot," he replies just before deeply, ardently kissing her. The archery field is beside a small copse of trees, and he briefly entertains the idea of carrying her to a hidden spot and making love to her in the shade of the tall oaks and elms. The only thing stopping him is the fact that they have guests waiting for them. _Such as they are._ He pulls his lips away and, once again, rests his forehead against hers. "Are you all right?" he asks.

"Yes. Thank you," she answers. Her eyes widen slightly. "Oh, dear, what are Olaf and Vivian doing? We have abandoned our guests."

"Olaf was, um, having words with his daughter. I left him to deal with her when I went to find you," he says, standing and gently pulling her with him.

"Oh. Yes, that's right, you said he discovered what she was doing," Guinevere says, remembering.

Arthur nods, then looks across to the target. "If you're this good when you're upset, I'd love to see you when you are focused on your task."

Guinevere ducks her head. "I may have been pretending the target was Vivian's head," she admits.

"As long as it wasn't mine," the king replies, hoping she will laugh. She does, and he breathes. "Come. Let's go back. The scribes have been waiting."

"Oh, dear, I nearly forgot about them," she says, pulling her sleeves back down, then patting her hair, making sure it isn't too disorderly.

"Your hair is perfect," Arthur assures his wife, and though she is skeptical of his assessment, she nods and drops her hands. He captures one in his and they walk, hand in hand, back to the castle. After a moment, he speaks again. "Vivian is a petulant child, and I thank the gods every day for your father's fortunate timing."

"I fear she is what her father has made her," Guinevere says. "I pity her actually."

"Her father?"

"She bears all the qualities of someone who has been over-indulged. She's been given everything she wants without question, and doesn't know what to do when she is told 'No'," the queen explains.

"Ah, I see. That makes perfect sense," Arthur says. "Apparently, I was fortunate to have a father who wasn't interested enough in me to indulge my every whim," he adds with a humorless laugh.

"No one has perfect parents, unfortunately. All we can do is learn from their mistakes and endeavor to not repeat them," she replies.

Arthur stops walking and leans down to kiss her. "When we do have a child – and yes, I am saying 'when' – you are going to be a wonderful mother," he says.

"And, you are going to be an excellent father," she answers, kissing him.

xXx

Olaf's face is stony as the four of them sit facing one another at the long table in the hall. He clears his throat, then says, "You have my most humble apologies, Arthur. If I had known the reason Vivian wanted to come along on this journey was so that she could behave like a common strumpet—"

Arthur holds up his hand, stopping the older king's words. "Please, there is no need to humiliate your daughter in our presence," he says. "No actual harm was done, and I even now wish to form an alliance with your kingdom."

Olaf nods, then looks at his daughter. "Vivian," he prompts.

"I am sorry for my actions, Sire," she half-whispers, half-squeaks, not lifting her eyes.

"Thank you, but it is not me to whom you should apologize," Arthur replies, reaching over to take his wife's hand.

The princess nods, then raises her head slightly to finally look at Guinevere. "Forgive me, my lady. I should not have behaved so with your husband. It was wrong of me and I apologize," she says.

"I accept your apology, Vivian, and hope you remember this day when _you_ are to be married," Guinevere says.

Vivian's brow furrows a moment, trying to understand the queen's meaning. "She means when you finally get a husband, you are to think about how it would feel if some visiting princess with no sense tried to seduce him," Olaf translates.

"Oh," Vivian whispers, then nods, looking at her lap again. "Yes, my lady."

"I must apologize again, I'm afraid," Olaf says. "I am partly to blame for her behavior. You see, I…" He pauses, rubs his forehead with his hand, then continues. "I have had to raise her on my own, and I fear I was too indulgent. Her mother… she has been ill for 15 years now… her body is healthy, but her mind… her mind is scattered. She has no sense. Recognizes me sometimes, but more often thinks I am her father or brother."

Vivian, hearing her father speak so, tightens her face as if to shield herself from the facts about her mother's condition. Despite her efforts, she fails to keep the sadness out of her countenance and wipes her downcast eyes.

"Oh, dear," Guinevere says, noting their ally's words as well as his daughter's reaction. She hadn't realized Olaf's queen was so incapacitated. She looks at Arthur and sees he was none the wiser either.

"I am very sorry for you, Olaf," Arthur says. "All I had ever heard is that she is reclusive and gets anxious in crowds… I had no idea it was much more serious."

"You know what _the public_ thinks to be true about my wife. It was the truth at one time, in the early days of her illness, but has become a lie to save face," Olaf admits. "In my guilt and grief, I let my daughter have everything she wished for. I see now that doing so was a mistake," he says, giving Vivian a hard look. Vivian blinks, and another tear falls onto her lap.

Guinevere's heart suddenly goes out to the gruff king, realizing his curmudgeonly exterior is really a cover to disguise his heartache.

"Olaf, if I may... I am sure your court physician has seen to your wife, but..." Arthur pauses and looks over at Merlin, who is standing near the door, waiting to bring the scribes in. The servant nods. "Our court physician, Gaius, is very wise and has seen more winters than most. Perhaps, he could accompany our knights on the first training exchange so he may look in on Queen Greta to see if there is anything he can do to help."

Olaf looks surprised. "Oh... um, yes, we would appreciate such a kindness very much, thank you. Our court physician ran out of remedies for her years ago. May I ask why you looked to your servant for confirmation? I am curious."

"Oh, Gaius is Merlin's great-uncle. My servant was merely confirming my thought, agreeing that Gaius would be able to make the journey."

"Interesting," Olaf says, not quite understanding the king's relationship with his servant, but choosing to say nothing. "Thank you, Arthur. It seems your kingdom may have more to offer than her military," he adds. "However, I do not believe we need to put that in writing."

"Agreed," Arthur nods. He gestures to Merlin, and the servant calls the scribes into the hall.

xXx

The next morning, as Olaf, Vivian, and the two (slightly hungover but hiding it well) knights prepare to leave, Guinevere decides to attempt giving the princess some advice.

"Vivian," she says, taking the girl's hand. "If I may… please take better care with how you treat others. It might be helpful and wise to remember that just because you are of royal blood does not necessarily mean you are the superior person," she gently says.

Arthur smiles, realizing how amazingly lucky he was to have been in Cameliard when Olaf's first message arrived.

"You've got a good wife there, Arthur," Olaf quietly remarks while Guinevere and Vivian continue to talk. "Please accept my apologies again for... the unpleasantness, and know that I in no way was trying to unload my daughter on you with my first offer. I fear I was blind to her, um, less than attractive qualities. I suppose I should be grateful that my eyes have been opened. Hopefully, it is not too late for her to mend her ways." He pauses. "And, for me to mend mine."

Arthur nods and clasps arms with the older king. Then, he glances over at the two women. Vivian appears receptive to what Guinevere is saying, and, to his surprise, hugs his wife. "I think you will both be fine," he says.

"She is still quite young, not yet 18, so there is hope," Olaf says. "Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur hides his surprise. _She is only 17?_ He merely nods and says, "You're welcome." He looks to the knights. "Next month then? You two, plus three others?"

The knights nod. "Yes, Sire. I have promised Sir Gwaine a rematch," Sir Seth remarks.

Arthur laughs, then turns back to Olaf. "Safe travels, Olaf. Princess, um..."

"Thank you for your hospitality," Vivian quietly says. "Again, I am sorry for my behavior. All of it."

"You're welcome, Vivian," Arthur says. "And, do not fret. One day, you will make someone a very good wife."

"Just not you," she answers, smiling a little.

"Just not me," he repeats.

"Queen Guinevere, it has been a pleasure," Olaf says, kissing the queen's hand. "Your father will be proud. It is clear you are a compliment to and a well-suited companion for Arthur."

"Thank you, Olaf. And, please, do write my father. I know he will appreciate it," Guinevere replies.

"I will," Olaf replies. He assists his daughter to her saddle, then mounts his own stallion. With a final nod to the King and Queen of Camelot, he leads his party out of the courtyard.

Arthur wraps his arms around his wife, pulling her close, heedless of the bustle around them. He sighs, leaning his cheek on the top of her head. "I shudder to think of what could have happened had I not been with your father when I was."

"I am very grateful you were," Guinevere answers, looking up at him.

He leans down to kiss her. "So am I. And, not only because she was awful. I... I am quite taken with you, Wife. Surely, you must realize that by now."

She smiles. "I do. And, I feel the same, Husband. I cannot imagine being anywhere or with anyone else."


	6. Chapter 6

"Instinct. You must train your body to think for itself. Your sword must be an extension of your arm, a part of _you_," Arthur instructs as Guinevere watches from the window again, a month later.

"Here, my lady. Gaius sent this," Sefa softly says, handing the queen a cup with some warm liquid inside.

"Thank you," Guinevere says with a smile. She leans down and sniffs it. _Smells like peppermi__nt__._

"How is your stomach?"

"A little better, thank you, Sefa," she answers, taking a sip.

"I need a volunteer," Arthur commands, drawing his wife's attention back to the activity outside as she sips. "Not you, Gwaine," he adds, laughing as he lightly slaps the other man's arm down. "Bedivere," he calls, and a young man walks out.

Guinevere recognizes him as one of the novices close to becoming a full knight. _I wonder why Arthur chose him?_ She knows her husband never does anything without a reason, especially when it comes to training his men.

Bedivere stands before the king, waiting. Arthur sets his sword on the ground, placing it so the blade rests on his foot, and pulls on his gloves. Guinevere puzzles over this, wondering why he would place his weapon just so. Her question is answered a moment later when the king kicks his foot to the side, flipping his sword back up into his hand.

_Oh, my._

"Merlin," Arthur calls, and his servant walks forward and ties a strip of cloth around Arthur's head, covering his eyes.

"He's going to fight blindfolded?" Guinevere gasps, looking at Sefa with wide eyes.

"Oh, I should like to see this, my lady," the maidservant replies, moving towards the window.

Guinevere scoots her chair over a bit to make room, and Sefa brings another chair just in time to see the king raise his sword and Merlin step back.

Merlin does not look concerned in the least. Neither does Leon. This helps Guinevere breathe a little easier.

Arthur waits for Bedivere to attack first, using his other senses to discern where the would-be knight's blade will fall. He meets each blow easily, and before the two women realize it, has moved from defensive to offensive, eventually knocking Bedivere onto the ground, sword pointed at his chest.

The men cheer. Guinevere exhales. Arthur removes his blindfold and passes it to Merlin. As he turns back toward the men, he pauses and looks up at the window, meeting his wife's eyes. He looks very pleased she saw the demonstration, and winks at her. She smiles and blushes, looking down into her cup.

"That was very impressive, my lady," Sefa comments.

"Yes. It was," the queen agrees, noting she suddenly feels a bit warmer than she did a few minutes ago. _Very impressive indeed._ She clears her throat and quickly takes a sip of her drink. "Did you bring any biscuits by chance?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, my lady, I should have thought..." Sefa answers, starting to stand.

Guinevere puts her hand on her maidservant's arm. "No, no, that's all right. I did not ask for them, so you couldn't have known. I'm fine, truly."

Sefa slowly sits back down. "If you're certain," she says.

"I am," the queen replies. She's been feeling queasy for the past couple of mornings. Hungry, but not hungry. As she sits and watches the rest of the training, a thought occurs to her. "Sefa?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Do you know what moon it is tonight?"

Sefa blinks, realization beginning to sink in. "Nearly full, my lady," she answers, her voice soft.

The two women stare at one another for a moment. Guinevere looks down at her drink, then out at Arthur. _I am two weeks late._ She says nothing, though she is aware her maid has likely reached the same conclusion. The queen merely wants her husband to be the first person to whom she says the words aloud.

xXx

"I liked that you were watching again," Arthur says, leaning down to kiss her. She's seated at the window in their chambers, waiting for him, her hands clenched tightly together in her lap.

"I saw you wink at me," she replies, smiling. "I must admit, I was... worried when I saw you were going to fight blindfolded, but..."

"Oh, that?" he asks, chuckling. "I do that every year. Keeps me sharp."

"Keeps his ego large," Merlin mutters, tidying up after his master. Arthur glares at him, but Guinevere knows he isn't really angry at his servant. She also understands why Arthur rejected Gwaine when the knight volunteered. _He would have seen it before, and taken every advantage he could._

The king dismisses his servant, then sits on the bench beside his wife, noting her posture and seeing the worry in her eyes. "Something's troubling you," he says, taking her hands. He kisses one. "What is on your mind, my sweet?" he asks.

"I'm not troubled so much as... a little anxious about something," she answers.

Arthur reaches up and caresses her cheek. "Please, tell me," he softly implores.

"I... I'm..." Guinevere pauses, exhales, and starts again. "My monthly is two weeks overdue," she finally says, her voice a whisper.

His mouth opens, then closes. He looks from her face to her stomach and back again, then a small smile begins to form on his face. "So..." he croaks, squeezing her hands, "you mean...?"

"That is generally what it means, yes," she answers, biting her lip. "I think I should see a midwife to make certain, but—"

Arthur suddenly leans forward and kisses her, pulling her close. He is unable to express his feelings with words, so he tries to convey his joy another way.

Guinevere grips his shirt, melting into his embrace, returning his passion even as happy tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

"Oh, Guinevere," he says, pulling away when he feels the wetness on his face. He gently wipes her cheeks, not even realizing his eyes are threatening to drop tears as well. "I... I hope those are good tears," he ventures, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her once more.

"Yes," she answers, nodding. "Yes, but... I'm a bit scared, too," she admits. "It's what I've been hoping for since our wedding, but now that it's happened... I'm frightened."

He gathers her into his arms and holds her reassuringly. "I know... it is a little scary, isn't it?" he asks, smiling. "But... _good_ scary," he adds, pushing aside the beginnings of his own growing anxiety for the moment. _I'll deal with that later. I need to__ focus on her for now__._

She nods against his shoulder, snuggling closer to him. "The midwife Percival and Corliss used is called Evelyn," she says.

Arthur laughs. "You knew that was going to be my next question," he says, kissing the top of her head. "I'll send for her."

"Perhaps we should first confirm they were happy with her," she suggests, leaning back and looking at him.

"Yes. They didn't seem unhappy, but I'll send for Percival. Training just ended, so he should still be around. Probably lurking around the kitchens..." he stands and goes to the door. He opens it and pokes his head out. "Devon," he calls to one of the two guards stationed outside.

"Yes, Sire?" the man replies, turning to face his king.

"Fetch Sir Percival, please."

"Yes, my lord." He nods and starts down the corridor just as Merlin appears with their lunch tray.

"Why did you send for Percival?" Merlin asks once inside. He sets the tray down on the table.

"I think you sometimes forget that you are my manservant," Arthur comments, but he is in too good a mood to be truly irritated.

Guinevere stands and walks over. "It's all right, Merlin can know. He and Sefa should both know since they are our personal servants." She pauses a moment. "I think Sefa may already suspect," she adds, remembering the pointed silence between the two women while watching the training that morning.

"What should I know?" Merlin asks, setting out their plates.

"Guinevere may be with child. We sent for Percival to find out if the midwife Corliss used was to their liking," Arthur explains.

"Oh, that's wonderful news!" Merlin exclaims, grinning broadly.

"Thank you," Guinevere replies, returning his smile.

"Yes, thank you, Merlin," Arthur echoes, waiting for his wife to sit before he joins her at the table. "We can serve ourselves," he adds.

"Very good. Gaius told me he needed my assistance anyway," the servant answers, nodding to the king and queen before moving towards the door.

"Merlin, I don't need to remind you—" Arthur starts, calling after him.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything," the servant says over his shoulder. He smiles once more, then dials his grin back to his usual genial expression, and exits.

Arthur looks at Guinevere. "Despite his borderline insubordinate nature, I trust him more than almost anyone," he sighs, kissing her hand.

"I know. You wouldn't allow him to be borderline insubordinate if you didn't," she answers, smiling.

"I trust you, too," he adds, kissing her hand once more before releasing it so they can both start eating. "Even in this short time, I know I can trust you. It's why I said 'almost anyone'," he clarifies.

"Thank you, Arthur. That... that means so much," she replies, looking over at him. "And, I probably don't need to say it, but I trust you, too. With my life."

Arthur sets his fork down and moves from his chair to crouch beside his wife. He softly kisses her. "Your faith in me means more than you realize, Guinevere," he says. He smiles up at her. "We need to be able to trust one another. Both as husband and wife and as king and queen."

She nods, caressing his cheek. "I trusted you ever since our journey here from Cameliard. Even though I thought you were Sir Leon," she says with a smile, able to laugh about it now.

xXx

Sir Percival confirmed that yes, they were quite pleased with Evelyn's service as midwife, and seemed quite happy the king and queen sought out his opinion on the matter. He also promised to keep the news to himself, due to the sensitive nature of the information, but was given leave to tell only his wife.

The knight offered to send for the midwife for them. At first, Arthur declined, saying he would send Merlin, but Guinevere thought Percival going would be a good idea. "It would not seem unusual for him to pay her a visit, considering his wife recently had a child. Everyone knows Merlin, and would know why he is there," the queen recommended. Percival also pointed out that he had patrol in the lower town, so it would be no trouble.

Sefa showed the thrilled woman to the royal chambers just under two hours later. Arthur, aware his presence was unnecessary, excused himself to a Council meeting and left his wife in Evelyn's capable hands.

"Where is the queen, Sire?" Lord Rudyard, one of the council members, as well as Sir Leon's father, inquires when Arthur appears accompanied only by Merlin.

"Queen Guinevere is feeling slightly under the weather and is resting," Arthur smoothly answers, taking his seat.

"I do hope she isn't taking ill," the lord replies, and his sentiment is echoed around the table with nods and murmurs of agreement.

"I am fairly confident it is nothing concerning, but thank you," Arthur replies with a nod. "Now. I believe we should discuss the grain stores for the upcoming harvest. Winter will be upon us before we know it, and the people are going to need..."

xXx

Arthur returns from the council meeting to find his wife sitting on the same bench by the window, sewing and humming, the large family tree tapestry spread across her lap.

Smiling, he walks over to her, lifts one side of the heavy material, sits down, and sets the cloth over his lap. "How was your meeting with the midwife?" he asks leaning over and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.

Guinevere smiles and stops sewing. "I am very healthy and strong and definitely with child," she answers, her smile broadening as her husband continues to kiss her neck.

"That is all very good news," he answers, lifting his head. He kisses her lips, then looks down at her work. She is stitching a branch leading from their names which will eventually end with the name of their child.

"I hope you don't think I'm getting ahead of myself," she says. "I had to do something to keep busy. I wrote a letter to Father and Elyan, too, but... I don't think I'll send it yet."

He furrows his brow. "Why not?"

"Well... there is still a danger of... you know," she explains, afraid to voice her fear. He nods, his smile falling momentarily. "So, it may be best if I wait. I don't want to worry them."

Arthur is quiet for a moment. "It's up to you, my sweet, but if I may offer my opinion," he pauses while she nods her assent, "I think you should send it. Even if... something... happens, I think they would want to know. I think they would want to know _that_, too, even though it is _not going to happen,_ but... if it does, they should know. They are your family."

Guinevere slowly nods. "I... I just don't want to worry them. I don't wish to cause any unnecessary stress, especially for Father."

"I know," he answers, taking her hand and kissing it. "As I said, it is your decision."

She nods thoughtfully, sticking the needle into the tapestry but not pulling the thread through. "You're right, Arthur. They deserve to know," she says as she gathers up the material, folding it carefully. "If the situation were reversed... I mean, I know it couldn't be exactly the same, but something similar... I would want to be told."

Arthur smiles, takes the heavy fabric from her, and places it on a nearby trunk. "Of course. For instance, if it happened to Morgana, I would like to know," he says. He turns and gently pulls his wife to her feet, wrapping his arms around her.

"I understand," she answers, leaning her head on his chest. "Evelyn said I was about a month along, as near as she could tell. Maybe a bit more."

He kisses the top of her head. "Thank you. I was wondering," he replies. "When do you suppose it happened?" he muses, running his hand up and down her back.

"Hmm." She ponders his question, but finds herself unable to come up with an answer. "Could have been..." she pauses, giggling against his chest, "any number of occasions."

He laughs with her, hugging her, then tilting her chin up to kiss her. "Indeed, it could have, sweet Guinevere," he answers. "It will likely remain a myst—"

A knock at the door interrupts him, and he sighs.

"Come in," Guinevere calls, laughing. "It's only Merlin with our dinner," she says to Arthur, lifting up to kiss him just as Merlin enters, laden with a tray.

"Ah, so the midwife had good news then?" the servant asks knowingly. "I brought some extra food in case you were extra hungry, my lady."

"Um, thank you, Merlin, but have you forgotten Guinevere's stomach has been rather unsettled lately..." Arthur starts.

"That's all right, Arthur. It seems to be only in the mornings. Actually, right now, I'm quite hungry," Guinevere speaks up, walking towards the table. "Thank you, Merlin."

xXx

"Thank you, Sefa," Guinevere says, smiling at her maidservant in the mirror. "Good night."

"Good night, my lady," Sefa answers. "I... I am very happy for you and the king," she quietly adds.

"Thank you," the queen repeats, reaching up and lightly squeezing the maid's hand.

Sefa smiles, curtseys, and turns. She finds herself facing the king, so she curtseys again.

"Good night, Sefa," Arthur says.

"Good night, Sire," Sefa answers, bending her knees yet again before exiting.

Arthur disappears behind the changing screen for a moment, and Merlin catches his flying garments as the king changes for bed.

Guinevere putters at her vanity for another minute, waiting for her husband. When he appears, clad only in a pair of soft black sleeping trousers, she stands and crosses to him.

Merlin nods at the pair and leaves with his laundry basket.

Arthur takes his wife's hands and kisses them, turning one to kiss her wrist.

"Why do you like to kiss me there so often?" Guinevere softly inquires.

He blinks. "Do you not like it? I'll stop if—"

"No, I do, I was simply wondering if there was a reason," she clarifies.

He moves, sitting on the bed, gently pulling her to stand between his knees. He takes one of her hands between his and turns it, rubbing his thumb over the spot he's recently kissed. Then, he lightly presses his thumb against her skin. "The beat of your heart is strong here," he says, taking her other hand and pressing her fingers against the spot.

"Oh," she answers, smiling. She doesn't need any further explanation, having learned that her husband, the powerful warrior, the military strategist, the golden young King of Camelot, is actually a remarkably sweet and tender man who isn't afraid to completely bare himself to his wife. Mithian's words come into her mind. _"When he commits to something, he gives it everything he has. And, I can see he __is__ committed to you."_

"There are other places where a person's heartbeat can be easily felt, like here," he leans up and kisses the side of her neck, "and, of course, here," he leans forward and kisses her chest, over her heart, "but, this," he kisses her wrist again, "is the most... proper," he finishes with a smile.

Guinevere chuckles. "I can only imagine the talk if you were seen frequently kissing my neck. Or, my chest." She laughs a little harder at the thought.

"Positively scandalous," Arthur adds, laughing with her. "I'm going to have to watch myself now though. Because, I'm going to want to kiss you here," he leans down and kisses her stomach, "quite a bit."

She reaches up and cups his face in her hands, softly stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. "You are an incredibly sweet man, Arthur."

"No one has ever told me that before," he replies, smiling up at her. He closes his eyes and leans into her touch.

"I am glad I was the first to say it. That means I am the only one who has seen this side of you," she answers, and he nods, smiling, his eyes still closed. He moves one hand forward, gliding around her hip to her stomach, caressing it through the silk of her nightdress. "Once my belly starts to grow large, you may not look so strange should you wish to kiss it," she says.

He opens his eyes. "I cannot wait," he says, an impish look on his face as he lightly runs his hand over her stomach.

She smiles down at her husband, chuckling at his endearing nature. Her hands trail down his neck to land on his shoulder, her fingers feeling the rough line of a scar crossing his skin just where his arm begins. She traces the mark, slightly leaning back to look at it. "Where did you get this?" she asks, curious. She's noticed several scars on his body in these three months, but has yet to ask about them.

Arthur twists his head back and to the side to look at his shoulder. "Hmm? Oh, that one was from a bandit who got lucky," he says, shrugging as though it was not a big deal. "He wasn't so lucky afterwards," he adds, wrapping his arms around Guinevere's waist and pulling her onto the bed with him, lying back so she lands on top of him.

"Arthur!" she exclaims, giggling and squirming as she attempts to get free. He somehow maneuvers them from their sideways position to lie in bed with their heads on the pillows. Only then does he release her. She leans up on her elbow to look down at him. "What is that one?" She points to one on his side.

"Skirmish with King Alined's men," Arthur says, frowning. "It required stitches," he adds.

She scoots down and kisses the mark, then moves up and presses her lips to the scar on his shoulder. "And, this?" she skims her fingers over his forehead, brushing his hair aside to show a small mark she noticed once.

"You saw that one, huh?" he asks, smiling. "Fell out of a tree."

"You fell out of a tree?" she repeats.

"I was eight."

"Oh," she says, smiling. She leans up and kisses his forehead. Next, she lifts his hand and traces a mark on his forearm.

"I got that one from Gwaine," he says. "The _one_ time he beat me."

"Oh, dear," she replies, rubbing the line with her thumb before softly kissing it.

"He did feel bad about it," Arthur says. Then, a sly smile creeps across his face. "Until I gave him a matching wound the next time we faced one another."

"Arthur!"

"I know. It's juvenile and stupid. Gaius wasn't happy with either of us," he admits, laughing.

"Shouldn't have kissed that one," she murmurs, trying not to smile.

"I have another scar on my..." he says, starting to turn over and pull down his trousers.

"Oh!" she exclaims, laughing and swatting at his hand as her cheeks heat and turn pink. "You are terrible!"

He laughs and returns to his back, pulling her down beside him. "I was teasing," he says, kissing her forehead. "Maybe."

She gives him a suspicious look. In truth, though she has seen all of him, she hasn't taken _that_ close a look at certain parts. _Perhaps, one day I'll be brave enough to find out if he really does have a scar there._

Arthur looks down at her. He reaches up and gently pokes a small mark on her forehead. "Surely, Leodegrance's sheltered princess did not sustain an injury to her beautiful forehead," he says.

Guinevere raises her eyebrows. "Just because I was sheltered does not mean I did not fall down the stairs or get into scuffles with my brother," she says.

He kisses the spot. "And, which is this from?"

"Stairs. There's one on my knee as well," she says.

Arthur immediately sits up and goes in search of the scar, flipping the hem of her gown up to expose her knees. "Which leg?"

"My right," she answers, laughing again.

"Ah, this right here?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over a mark beside her kneecap.

"Yes," she replies, his warm hands on her knee slightly distracting now. Especially because one is moving higher.

"Just a small mark," he murmurs, kissing it. Then, he kisses her thigh before moving back up beside her. He leaves one hand on her thigh, under her nightdress, sliding it up to her hip.

"Arthur," she whispers, her hand smoothing over his chest as he leans down and captures her lips.


	7. Chapter 7

"I'll be back before you know it," Arthur says, leaning down to kiss Guinevere – again – before pulling her into his arms. His cape draped over them, he takes the opportunity to drop his hand to her stomach for a quick caress.

The queen is four months pregnant, and only just starting to show. She still fits into most of her gowns, but Sefa is careful not to lace her corsets as tightly.

"We'll make the announcement when I return," the king whispers, kissing his wife's cheek. They had been planning to share the news with the kingdom the next day, but other matters suddenly took precedence.

They received word of Odin's troops menacing a few of the border towns, burning food stores, "recruiting" men, and even, in a few cases, taking advantage of women. A message was sent to their king for aid, so their king decided he must give aid.

"All right," Guinevere replies, nodding. She moves closer to him, the crisp autumn air seeping into her bones. "Chainmail is so cold," she frowns, patting his mail-clad chest with her gloved hand.

"Sorry," Arthur answers, smiling apologetically.

Over his shoulder, she spies the men waiting with decreasing patience. "You should go. Your men are waiting, and it gets darker earlier every day."

"So eager for me to be off, my lady?" he asks, smiling impishly.

She returns his smile despite her sadness at his departure, remembering those are nearly the same words he said to her the first time they met.

He kisses her once more. When he pulls back, he sees the worry in her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but hesitates.

"I'll be careful," he quietly says, guessing her thought.

"For me," she shyly replies.

He caresses her cheek and nods. "Go back inside and get warm," he says. "I don't want you to take ill. Either of you," he adds with a grin.

She nods, stepping away and blinking back an inexplicable tear, hoping he doesn't notice. _Evelyn did say I might be a bit more emotional._

Arthur waves to her from his horse, and Guinevere puts on a brave smile and waves back, nodding. She watches only Arthur, and does not notice the approving smiles from Merlin and the knights as they witness the open display of affection between their sovereigns. Guinevere heads back inside only after the men disappear from view.

xXx

"If I may speak freely, my lord?" Sir Leon asks, maneuvering his horse beside Arthur's. They have been traveling for just over an hour and are deep in the forest.

"Of course," the king answers. "What is on your mind?"

"Nothing bad. I merely wish to say how pleased I am that you and Queen Guinevere are getting along so well," Leon says. "You certainly seem well matched."

Arthur smiles. "Thank you. She is quite an amazing woman. When King Leodegrance first suggested the union, I will admit I was hesitant."

Leon nods. "Understandable."

"But, I can say with all honesty that I do not regret the decision at all. Guinevere is..." Arthur pauses, searching for the words that will properly convey his feelings about his wife to his knight and friend. "She has surpassed my expectations for a wife and queen in every way," Arthur says. "In time, when you all get to know her better, you will see how truly wonderful she is."

"We already see it, Sire," the knight answers. "We've known one another a long time, you and I," he adds.

"That we have, Leon," Arthur replies. "We were squires together. You were the only one who didn't put up with my prattish behavior," he chuckles.

"Only because my father told me I shouldn't," Leon admits. "He figured _someone _had to treat you like a regular person."

Arthur laughs. "I shall have to thank him for that."

Leon nods. "I only mention the length of our acquaintance to say I've never seen you like this before. With a woman, I mean." Arthur gives him a puzzled look, and he clarifies. "Not that you were a womanizer, Sire, far from it... I am simply saying I have never seen you so, um... smitten."

"Perhaps, I am," Arthur allows.

"You are very good to her," Leon says, smiling.

"She is very good to me," the king counters. "It seems only right I should treat her in kind. She is my wife. My partner in life. I see no reason to treat her as anything less than my equal simply because she is a woman."

"I agree," the knight nods. "I always think if the lady in question was my sister or mother, I wouldn't want her husband to treat her poorly."

"Or just be pushed aside, like Morgana," Arthur adds, frowning.

Leon nods thoughtfully. "I am not sure which would be worse. All I know is I would not wish Morgana's fate on anyone."

"Or, Queen Heloise's," Arthur adds. He's always felt sorry for Odin's queen. It is widely known that Odin treats her quite poorly.

"Indeed," Leon agrees. They ride silently, side by side, for a few minutes. "My father said Queen Guinevere is a true successor to Queen Ygraine. We all know how highly he thought of your mother. He said she would be proud to call Guinevere 'Daughter'," the knight bravely ventures. The king's mother is almost never discussed; a holdover from Uther's days as king when he forbade anyone from so much as mentioning her name. Most people are unsure about bringing her up to Arthur, and Leon almost didn't say anything, but risked it because he decided his friend would like to know.

Arthur sadly nods. The only knowledge he has of his mother is second-hand, having never known her himself. Lord Rudyard was, in his day, the Queen's Champion, and he held his queen in the highest regard. "That is high praise indeed," Arthur says at length.

"He... he did not feel comfortable telling you such a thing himself, Arthur," Leon says. "He may well be displeased with me for relaying his words."

The king smiles at his old friend. "Thinking of my mother always saddens me, but his sentiment makes me happy. Tell him 'Thank you'. Or, don't, if you do not wish to confess you told me."

"I haven't decided," Leon says. He clears his throat. "You're certain we should make for Longstead first?" he asks, switching to business.

"Yes. It stands to reason, based on the other villages that were attacked. Longstead would be the next logical place. Hopefully, we'll intercept them before they arrive. Then, we'll visit the other villages to see if there is anything we can do for them."

"Why couldn't Percival come with us again?" Gwaine asks from just behind them.

Arthur turns. "He asked to stay in Camelot," he answers. It's a half-truth, but it will suffice.

"He did?" Gwaine asks.

"Would you be keen on leaving for a dangerous mission with an infant son at home?" Leon counters. "Besides, someone should stay there to keep the queen safe."

Gwaine half-shrugs his assent. "Going to miss him if we get into heavy battle, but I see your point."

"Percival will be missed, yes, but I feel much more secure knowing he is there guarding the queen," Arthur says, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. As Percival is still the only one of the knights who knows about Guinevere's pregnancy, he and the king agreed he would be the best man to remain behind.

"Well, _I_ am the Queen's Champion," Leon points out, grinning, only bringing the matter up to irk Gwaine. The other knight had hoped to win the tournament in the queen's honor.

"Yes, but you're also my First Knight, and I need your careful planning skills," Arthur counters. He exchanges a sly look with Leon and adds, "Even though you _did_ earn the title of Queen's Champion."

"By taking third place," Gwaine volunteers.

"Still did better than you," Leon shoots back.

"Only because you didn't face me," the other knight answers.

"If memory serves, Sir Lancelot defeated you, and I defeated Sir Lancelot. So, logically..."

Arthur laughs, his mind drifting back to that day, recalling how beautiful Guinevere looked seated in the royal box with Mithian and Morgana. _She was wearing red. Her shoulders were bare. She leaned forward to take the ring from my lance, and the smile she gave me was different from the one she gave the others._

"Lancelot got lucky," Gwaine mutters. "Next tournament, I will get the upper hand."

"But, not my title," Leon answers.

xXx

"My lady, you should be resting," Gaius quietly recommends when he sees the queen walk past his open doors for the third time.

Guinevere stops and steps inside his quarters. As court physician, he is one of the small group of people who know about the queen's pregnancy.

"I know, but I am restless," she says, sitting in a chair.

Gaius smiles, understanding. "You haven't been apart since the wedding," he says.

"I miss him more than I anticipated I would," she admits. "Silly, really."

"Not at all," he answers. "He is your husband. It is natural that you would miss him. It's _good_ that you do."

She nods. "I suppose what you say is true." She sighs, picking up a sprig of dried chamomile, twirling it between her fingers. "I know I cannot expect him to stay here when his men ride out. He is young, and their leader. He _should_ go. I just... worry. I do not want him to get hurt. Odin's men are quite ruthless."

Gaius sits opposite the queen and smiles at her. "You have seen the king fight," he says.

"In the tournament, and in training," she replies, setting the flower aside.

The old man's bushy eyebrows rise. "Correct me if I am wrong, my lady, but wasn't there a bit of a scuffle on your journey here?"

She smiles and looks at her hands. "Yes. Two bandits. He saved my life," she says.

"My lady, I have known Arthur his entire life. I was there when he was born; I watched him grow and learn and become the fine young man he is today. I am only the court physician, a commoner, but I feel somewhat... grandfatherly towards him," Gaius says. Guinevere nods and he continues. "I always worry about Arthur when he goes into battle. I worry about him, Merlin, Leon... all the men. I am the one who has to patch them up and tend their wounds when they return. Sometimes, I am the one who has to say, 'There is nothing I can do for him' and simply make the wounded man comfortable so his passage isn't dreadful."

"That must be very difficult, Gaius. I am sorry," the queen says, placing her hand over his.

He nods. "It is a part of the job. But, I am telling you this to let you know that in all my years, of all the knights I've seen on the battlefield and in the tournament ring, never have I ever seen a warrior like Arthur."

"Truly?"

"I know it sounds like I am exaggerating, but I am not. Arthur... he knew his father would be proud of him if he was a good knight. Skilled in battle. He pushed himself to be better than all the others because he felt, as the prince, he _should_ be." The old man sighs. "I probably should not tell you this, but... Uther was not the most attentive father. However, he paid attention to Arthur in regards to his training."

"Arthur has told me quite a bit about his father, yes," Guinevere says. She had already guessed that her husband's amazing skills in battle were likely developed to garner his father's approval. "I know he wasn't exactly... ideal."

Gaius slowly nods. "You are a very diplomatic queen, my lady," he says, a smile creeping across his weathered face. "And, while you are well within your rights to worry about your husband when he goes off to battle – even though I wouldn't really consider _this_ a battle – you would do well to also have confidence in his abilities."

Guinevere looks down at her hands again, then up at the physician. "You are right, Gaius. I should have faith in him. I thought I did, honestly, but... I let my worry cloud my judgment."

The old man smiles. "There may be something _else_ amplifying your concern, my lady."

"Yes, there is that as well," she admits, her hand absently straying over her stomach. "Thank you, Gaius. Your counsel is very helpful."

"You are very welcome, my lady. My door is always open for you," Gaius replies, smiling.

"Gaius, have you seen... oh. There you are, my lady," Percival's large form appears in Gaius' doorway. He steps inside. "Are you well?" he quietly asks.

Guinevere smiles and stands. "Yes, Percival, I was merely visiting with Gaius. I am quite well. You were looking for me?"

"Yes, my lady. There is... well, your presence is required in the throne room," the knight says, offering his arm.

"All right. Is there a problem?" she asks, taking the offered arm.

"I do not think so," he says. "It is one of the farmers from the edge of town."

"Oh. Thank you again, Gaius," she says. He nods in reply. The queen and knight leave the physician's quarters and head down the corridor to the throne room. "Percival," she says after a moment.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Why do you never wear sleeves?"

"Too tight, my lady," he answers.

"Surely, the royal seamstresses could fashion something that would not restrict your movement," she supplies. "That is, if you wish," she adds, not wanting him to think she disapproves of his appearance.

"Thank you, my lady, but I think I would find it most uncomfortable. I am too accustomed to moving about this way," he says, lifting his free arm. "I am rarely troubled by the cold, and, to be quite honest, it does rather intimidate my foes in battle," he adds with a chuckle.

She laughs with him. "Quite understandable. How is little Garrett faring? He is five months old now?"

"Yes, my lady. He is happy and healthy, thank you. Corliss would like to bring him for a visit soon, if it pleases you," Percival offers.

"I would like that very much, yes." Guinevere chuckles and softly adds, "I think Lady Corliss and I will have much to talk about."

"Indeed, my lady," the knight agrees.

xXx

The mood in the town of Longstead is understandably quite an anxious one. The people had heard the reports from the other towns, and the village elders had reached the same conclusion as Arthur and Leon: Longstead is next.

Arthur's party had circled around and approached the town from the west, figuring Odin's men would be arriving from the east. They didn't want to be spotted by their foes.

However, they _are_ spotted by some children, who go running for their parents, yelling excitedly the entire time.

"Nothing for it really," Arthur chuckles, watching them scampering into the town ahead of them. He deliberately slows their progress to give the children the opportunity to tell their exciting news.

They are met by two older men. Arthur stops his horse, dismounts, and walks towards them. They both bow respectfully, recognizing their king. "I have received a request for aid," Arthur says, looking at the two men, then turning his gaze towards the village. "It appears we have arrived in time."

"Yes, Sire," one man answers. "Thank you for coming. I am John, and this is Byram. We're two of the village elders. You must be hungry from your travels. If you would follow me, my wife will have food and drink for you."

"I do not wish to inconvenience you," Arthur says. "We can set up camp outside the western part of town."

"My lord, I am the innkeeper here," John presses. "You would honor us by your presence." He looks towards the men. "However, I don't think I have rooms enough for _all_ your men," he adds, frowning.

Leon and Gwaine step forward. "Bors says he and the men will set up camp just beyond the edge of the forest, out of sight. We will all go to the inn for food and planning," Leon says.

"And, we will take three rooms," Arthur says, not keen to deprive the innkeeper of any income. "If you have them."

"Yes, Sire. Of course, Sire," John nods enthusiastically at the prospect of the king staying at his inn.

"Lead the way, my good man," Arthur instructs. "Merlin," he calls over his shoulder, and his servant comes forward, a large satchel over his shoulder.

"Do I get a room?" Merlin quietly asks.

"If you're lucky, you can sleep on the floor in mine," Arthur replies.

"Well, it won't be lumpy ground. And, it's indoors," the servant allows with a light shrug.

"Too bad Odin's men will be attacking tonight," the king returns, no longer smiling.

"You think so?" Merlin asks.

"I would bet your life on it," Arthur answers.

"So, not _completely_ certain then," Merlin says with a snort.

Arthur huffs a short laugh and follows John inside. The king looks around the inn. It's cozy and clean, with a warm fire in a large fireplace at one end. The tables are spotless and the floor is not sticky or dirty. There is a pleasant smell of bread and roasted meat in the air. He finds himself thinking of his Guinevere and her wish to one day stay at an inn. _This would be just the sort of place I would bring her. I have been in many such establishments, and this is one of the cleanest._

_ I miss her quite a bit._ The realization hits him quite suddenly.

"Mary!" John calls. "We have guests, Love!"

xXx

"Her Royal Highness, Queen Guinevere," Percival announces her majesty's arrival in the throne room.

She walks in on Percival's arm, and the people gathered there, mostly men, bow respectfully as she passes. There aren't many, perhaps a dozen courtiers, a few servants, and the farmer. He has a young boy with him who looks rather overwhelmed, his blue eyes wide as he stares at the queen, forgetting to bow until his father nudges his shoulder.

Guinevere smiles at him and he turns bright pink. She sits on her throne, trying not to think of the empty one beside her.

One of the council members speaks. "My lady, this is Bavol and his son, Keaton. He is a farmer who lives on the north end of town. He—"

The queen holds up her hand. "Thank you, Lord Audric. I am sure Bavol is quite capable of speaking for himself," she says.

"Yes, my lady." Audric nods and steps back.

"Step forward Bavol and Keaton. With what can we help you?" Guinevere asks.

Bavol twists his hat in his hands, nervous. He bows. "My lady," he quietly starts, then clears his throat. "There was an accident at our farm two nights ago. A fire. It was... it was no one's fault, my lady... an accident, like I said... but we lost much."

Guinevere nods, remembering the plume of smoke. "I am very sorry, Bavol. What did you lose?"

"About half of our food stores for the winter, my lady. One foolish milk cow that refused to move. The barn needs a lot of repairs," Bavol replies, listing his losses. "Lost a pig, too, but we were able to salvage most of it for food."

The queen nods again. "Geoffrey," she calls, and the record-keeper steps forward. "Bring me the reports on the grain stores, please."

Geoffrey nods. "Yes, my lady."

"Thank you, my lady, but I do not wish to ask for charity without giving anything in return," Bavol says while they wait for Geoffrey to return.

"Oh?" she asks, interested.

Bavol taps his son on the shoulder. Keaton steps forward and bows. "My son is small for his age, but he is nearly a man, my lady. We offer his services to the castle and humbly request employment for him so that he may earn some coin to help us rebuild our barn."

Guinevere looks at the boy. "Is this what you wish?" He says nothing, his face turning redder by the moment. "You may speak freely, Keaton. I promise I will not bite you," she says, smiling impishly at him.

"I would like to work with the horses, please, my lady," Keaton says. His voice is so quiet she almost doesn't hear him.

Geoffrey returns with a scroll, and when he hands it to the queen she whispers a question to him. He nods and exits again.

"Horses are wonderful," the queen says, not yet opening the scroll. "I brought my horse with me when I came here. She's a white mare called Lavender, and I am very happy I could bring her along. The king's horse is a majestic brown stallion called Captain." She smiles, thinking back to a week ago, when she and Arthur had gone for a leisurely ride in the forest together. He had surprised her by having Merlin pack a small picnic for them.

Keaton grins. "I like the king's horse."

"So does the king," Guinevere replies. Then, she leans forward and loudly whispers, "But, I think Captain likes _me_ better. He lets me feed him apples and he doesn't even nip me."

Keaton's grin widens and he looks down at his feet.

The queen keeps _he__r_ smile from widening into a grin as Arthur's voice drifts into her memory. _"Are you going to stroke my nose and feed it to me, too?"_

Geoffrey returns, now quite out of breath. He simply nods at the queen.

"It seems we have room for one more stable boy," she declares. "If this is what you truly wish to do, Keaton." She poses the question again, wanting to make certain the boy's parents are not forcing him to work against his will.

"Oh, yes, my lady!" the boy excitedly answers. He looks up at his father, and the older man smiles and ruffles his son's hair.

The queen nods. "Excellent. Now," Guinevere turns her attention to the parchment scroll in her lap. "Just as I thought," she declares, looking at the figures. "It seems we have more than enough, if my estimations are correct." She beckons Geoffrey forward again, and he steps over with a blank parchment and a quill. The queen gives him some instructions, which he writes down. "Have you a cart?" she asks the farmer.

Bavol nods. "Yes, my lady." The anxious farmer unconsciously twists his hat as he awaits the queen's next words.

"Geoffrey will escort you to the stores. He will give you some supplies which should hold you for a good portion of the winter. That, combined with the new income from Keaton, should see you through to the spring."

"Thank you very much, my lady. I know we will be able to purchase more supplies in time, but... thank you. This will hold us until we can buy more," Bavol says, nearly crying now.

"Geoffrey, if there is any spare wood or other building materials – do make certain they are spare, mind – please offer them to him," she quietly instructs, handing him the scroll of parchment.

"Yes, my lady," Geoffrey answers. He takes the scroll and looks at his notes, making sure the writing is dry.

"Keaton, are you able to begin work today?" Guinevere asks.

The boy nods enthusiastically.

"Very good," she replies. "Sir Alston, would you show Keaton to the stables? I daresay Tyr will be happy to take him under his wing."

"Yes, my lady," the knight replies.

Keaton quickly hugs his father, then steps over to the knight, following him out of the throne room.

"Thank you again, my lady. My Letha is going to be so pleased," Bavol says, bowing again.

"You are most welcome, Bavol. Best of luck to you," she says.

Geoffrey steps over to the farmer. "Follow me, please," he says.

Guinevere quietly sighs as she watches them walk out, hoping she did the right thing but keeping her face carefully neutral. _I hope I did what Arthur would have done. He cares about his people. I wish he were here._

"That was well-handled, my lady," Lord Rudyard is the first to speak up.

"Thank you, Lord Rudyard," she answers. "Are there any other matters of court this afternoon?" she asks.

"No, my lady," Lord Audric steps forward and answers. "The farmer's request was unscheduled, but since it seemed urgent and you were available, we decided to allow it."

The queen raises an eyebrow at his word choice. _They decided to allow it? The poor man had a fire!_ "That was the correct decision, Lord Audric," she says, her voice authoritative enough to convey her irritation that he considered turning Bavol away.

"Yes, my lady," Audric answers after a moment, looking a bit cowed. Rudyard turns slightly away and coughs into his sleeve.

Guinevere stands, and Percival is there in an instant, his hand offered to guide her down the few steps from the dais. She thanks him, then takes his arm and exits the throne room.

"I should like to rest now, Percival," she says once they are well into the corridor.

"I am not surprised," the knight answers. "If I may, you should have been resting when I came looking for you earlier, my lady."

She sighs. "I know. Sefa has been fretting over me all day, too. I just..."

"You miss the king," he simply says.

"Is it that obvious?" she asks, looking up at him.

"Only because I am a married man myself, my lady."

"He just left this morning," she says. "I feel so silly."

"Corliss once told me that every time I leave, she feels like she dies a little inside," he tells her. "She says it doesn't matter if it is a hunting trip or a war; there's always a chance I won't come back."

Guinevere nods. She understands completely, but the giant knight's validation of her feelings doesn't lift her spirits.

"Not very reassuring, I know, but I will tell you this: I have always returned to my wife. I might be a little beaten up sometimes, but I always come home. And, do you know why I always do?" he asks, stopping outside the doors to the royal chambers.

"Because, you know you have a wife at home waiting for you? And now, a son?" Guinevere asks.

"Well, that's certainly part of it. I am definitely motivated to stay alive for them," he says, smiling. "Yet, Arthur always makes sure we come home. Do we lose men in battle? Yes, we do. But, our losses are always far fewer than those of our enemies. That is why he trains us so relentlessly. Not only because he wants us to be a formidable army, but also because he knows we have people who are waiting for us to come home. We aren't his soldiers, we are his _men_. This is the biggest difference between Arthur and Uther. Uther was more interested in the material wealth of the kingdom. Arthur values people above all else, because without people, there is no kingdom. The _people_ are what make the kingdom prosper."

Guinevere smiles. _Arthur is right. Percival is much more talkative on his own._ "Thank you, Percival. Your words have helped quite a bit."

"Do not worry about the king, my lady," Percival says, opening the door for her. "He will come home to you, safe and whole."

"Yes. I think he will," she replies, placing her hand on his arm for a moment before stepping inside. She turns back. "Corliss is a lucky woman to have a husband such as yourself," she says.

He smiles and blushes. "Thank you, my lady, but I am the lucky one."

"You are both fortunate," the queen counters, returning his smile.

Percival nods. "Shall I find Sefa for you, my lady?"

Guinevere shakes her head. "That won't be necessary, thank you. I know where she is," she says. "I plan on staying here for the rest of the afternoon and evening, so you will not need to attend me until tomorrow."

"Very good, my lady. I hope your rest is pleasant." The knight bows and turns, giving the guards posted outside a pointed look as he passes. They endeavor to appear more attentive in response.

Guinevere closes the doors and walks to the small one leading to her private chambers. "Sefa," she softly calls, stepping inside.

The maidservant looks up from her work. "Oh! What can I do for you, my lady?" she asks, starting to stand.

"Please, sit," the queen instructs. She comes over and looks at what her maid is doing. "Your script is very good. Very neat. Well done."

"Thank you, my lady," Sefa replies, smiling.

"Have you tried reading the book I gave you?"

"I have, but I am struggling with some of the words," she admits.

"I will help you with them after dinner," Guinevere says. "I need to rest for a short while. I do not need your assistance now, but please do not let me sleep too long."

"Yes, my lady. Will you be taking dinner in the royal chambers?" the maid asks.

"Yes, I think so, thank you," the queen answers, and turns to leave. She walks through the main chamber, removes her slippers, and lies down on the bed.

_It seems so big without him here._

xXx

Arthur's prediction is correct. Odin's men wait until the cover of nightfall to attack Longstead.

Fortunately, the Knights of Camelot and some willing and able villagers are strategically hidden around the town, ready for them. Arthur, Leon, Gwaine, and a few others are hidden on the eastern end, intending to be the first to intercept Odin's men. The rest of the villagers are gathered in a few homes nearest the town's center, hiding quietly.

"If, by the grace of some benevolent god, Odin is among them, he is mine," Arthur says, his voice a near whisper.

"Yes, Sire," Leon answers.

"I do not intend to kill him," Arthur clarifies. "It is my hope that he will be open to negotiations."

"Yeah, you hold onto that hope, Arthur," Gwaine says, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"I must," Arthur says. "I—" He suddenly stops talking and holds his hand up. The men fall silent and adjust their posture. Fingertips graze sword handles. Anticipation hangs heavily in the air.

Odin's men seem to materialize out of the darkness, moving nearly silently as they attempt a sneak attack on Longstead, unaware that they've been out-sneaked.

Arthur easily takes out the first man within reach, and the silence is broken by shouts of surprise from the attackers.

The king sees a man gesture to some others to find another way in. He grins, knowing that no matter which way the intruders attempt to enter the village, they will be met, and hopefully blocked, by his knights.

Arthur makes his way to the man who seems to be giving the orders, slashing, thrusting, and occasionally punching his way through. He grabs the man by the neck. "Where is Odin?" he snarls, fending off a would-be attacker while maintaining his hold on the enemy captain.

"Piss off," the man spits, struggling.

Arthur holds his sword to the man's throat. "Odin. Is he among you?"

"He's gone to Camelot... to..." he growls, still attempting to break free, "to bugger your queen..."

Arthur isn't surprised to discover this knight (he hesitates to even call him a "knight") recognizes him, and he knows the man is bluffing, but it makes his blood boil nevertheless. He sticks the point of his sword into the man's neck just enough to let him know he means business.

Another man attacks, his sword descending towards the king, but Gwaine's blade stops it before it makes contact. He kicks the attacker in the stomach, grins at Arthur, then dives after his target.

"My king..." the captain rasps, refusing to cry out in pain, even as Arthur twists his arm at an odd angle, "...will be interested to know you were here... attempting to defend this pathetic excuse for a... aah! village..."

"Your _king_ sent you to do his dirty work out in the cold while he sits in his castle on his large backside in front of a warm fire," Arthur growls in the other man's ear. "Yet, I am here _with_ my men, leading them. And, I will continue to defend my kingdom until he has run out of pawns to throw at me. Tell him that... _if_ you make it back to him."

"Go ahead... kill me," he says.

Arthur sighs and knocks the man out, tossing him towards the forest. "Leave him alive," he says, looking around to see most of the fighting has stopped. Some of Odin's men stopped when they saw King Arthur had their captain. Others were either knocked out or killed. Still others retreated when it became clear that Longstead would not be taken this night.

"Why are you leaving him alive?" a villager asks, nudging the unconscious captain with his foot.

"I gave him a message for Odin," Arthur simply says. "Shall we place wagers on whether or not he delivers it, or even remembers it when he wakes?" he asks, walking around, surveying the damage to the area.

"Put me down for 'No'," Gwaine says, wandering forward. "Do you know you're bleeding?" he asks the king.

"Am I?" Arthur asks. "Where?"

"There," the knight points to Arthur's left arm. "It's dripping out of your sleeve."

Arthur lifts his arm and sees his sleeve has been rent and there is a gash in his forearm. "Huh. So it is. I would have noticed it when it started hurting," he says. "All right. We've got work to do. Any of Odin's men who are still alive should be brought over here," he instructs, pointing to the edge of the forest just east of town. "We'll tie them all to a tree, just to further delay them. Where is Leon?"

"Here, Sire," the tall knight steps forward. He's got a black eye, but otherwise seems intact. Arthur raises his eyebrows. "Lucky shot." He shrugs.

Arthur chuckles. "Take some men and horses and circle the perimeter. Make sure all threats have been dealt with."

"Yes, Sire," Leon nods, gestures to a few men, and heads off.

"Gwaine, check with Merlin and see to the villagers. Then, come back here and help us move these bodies," Arthur says.

Gwaine nods. "Bet you wish Percival were here now," he says.

Arthur simply shakes his head and goes about his task. _If I wished anyone were here, it would be Guinevere._ He stops, looks at the mess around him, and amends his thought. _No. I wish I were home with Guinevere. This is no place for her right now._

_ Still, I miss her. I miss her soft touch and her kind words. Her laughter and how her dark eyes flash with mirth... and desire._

"Arthur?" Gwaine's voice snaps him out of his reverie.

"Yes?" the king turns.

"Villagers are good. Merlin is telling stories to the children who refuse to go to sleep."

"I'm sure that will help," Arthur chuckles.

"Sire?"

"Have you _heard_ some of Merlin's stories? The man is obsessed with dragons. It's not healthy."

xXx

Queen Guinevere has decided she no longer likes to dine alone. She very nearly asks Sefa to sit and join her. Her eyes drifted to Arthur's empty chair again and again, and though she had little appetite, she dutifully ate because she needs to for their child.

After dinner, as promised, she helps Sefa with her studies until her eyes grow tired.

"Would you like a bath tonight, my lady?" Sefa asks.

"Perhaps, tomorrow," Guinevere answers. "I think I will just retire." _Alone._

"Very good, my lady."

Sefa helps the queen prepare for bed and exits, her heart a little sad at seeing how much her mistress misses her husband.

Guinevere lies awake in bed, her thoughts on Arthur, hoping he is safe and warm, praying to every god she can think of for his safe return. After a minute, she rolls over to his side of the bed and presses her face into his pillow.

Eventually, she drifts off to sleep, on Arthur's side of the bed.

xXx

Sunrise is not far off by the time Arthur and his knights finally find their beds. Arthur, Leon, and Gwaine take their rooms at the inn, and the rest of the men head to their camp to bunk down for a few hours' rest before they head off to survey the next village.

Arthur's room has two beds, so Merlin is not required to sleep on the floor; something for which he is quite grateful.

"Do you think Odin will stop now?" the servant asks his master, staring at the embers of the fire in the darkness.

"Well, we've slowed him down significantly," Arthur answers. "Most of his men are injured or have fled. Some are dead. His captain is tied to a tree and won't be returning to his king any time soon."

"Hopefully, he'll take the hint and back off. I don't understand what he's after."

"Power. Camelot doesn't have anything Odin doesn't."

"You have a better army."

"True," Arthur allows. "But, that only means we can defeat him in battle, which makes no sense. Despite my father's mishandling of the kingdom in the last year of his rule, Camelot is still strong. We are a large kingdom, too. Land equals power. It's a simple as that."

"Seems pretty stupid," Merlin assesses.

Arthur laughs. "It is," he agrees. "But, such is politics. At times. Just because a person is royalty does not necessarily mean he or she is kind or intelligent."

Merlin joins his laughter. "Right. Take you, for example," he teases. A flying pillow lands on his face. "Thank you. I can use another one." He goes quiet for a few moments, making himself comfortable with his additional pillow. "I guess it's a good thing the queen is so good and wise."

"Go to sleep, Merlin," Arthur sighs. He turns over, reaching his hand out to the empty spot next to him on the bed, his fingers idly running over the sheet. It's not their bed, but he still misses her warmth beside him. He reaches into his tunic and pulls out the silken handkerchief he discovered tucked into his satchel when he changed clothes. _I wish I had found it sooner._ He brings it to his nose and inhales, relishing the lavender-and-honeysuckle scent of his wife. He curls onto his side and keeps the token close to his face as he finally relaxes enough to find sleep.

xXx

Arthur and his men are gone for nearly three days. They visited two villages on the second day and one more on the third before heading home.

Guinevere was kept busy enough running the kingdom, but missed her husband more with each day. The Council meeting was productive and the Lords were as respectful as always, but she missed Arthur's leadership. She took a walk in the garden and could hear the new recruits training, but it sounded all wrong without Arthur's authoritative voice ringing out.

She found she wasn't worrying as much, bolstered by Gaius and Percival, but she still longed for Arthur. It wasn't until she saw him return in the late afternoon of the third day that she realized why she missed him so terribly.

"My lady!" Sefa says, bursting into the royal chambers without knocking. "Oh!"

Guinevere was already walking towards the door, having seen the scout from her seat by the window. "They've been spotted?" she asks, just for confirmation. She could not hear the scout's words, but decided to be optimistic.

"Yes. They should be arriving soon," the maidservant answers. She knows how anxious her mistress has been for the king's return and came running as soon as she heard the news.

They meet Percival in the corridor. "Oh. You've heard," he says, smiling and stepping out of the way to avoid being run over by the petite queen. "My lady! You should have a cloak!" he calls after her, seeing that she has rushed past him with nothing to keep her warm.

"I'll get it," Sefa says, running into the room, grabbing the queen's heavy woolen cloak, and running back to catch up to Guinevere and Percival. She doesn't get a chance to place it over the queen's shoulders until they are standing in the courtyard.

"Thank you, Sefa," Guinevere absently says, her eyes glued to the gates.

"Oh, dear, I forgot your gloves, my lady," Sefa frets.

"It's all right," the queen answers. "Sefa, you have no cloak," she adds, finally looking at her maid. "Please go back inside. It is cold and damp today, and I do not want you to fall ill."

"Yes, my lady," Sefa curtseys.

Guinevere looks at the gates once more, then back to her maid. "Sefa," she calls.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Would you please have preparations made for a bath for the king? He will likely want one," she instructs.

"Of course, my lady," Sefa answers, scurrying away.

"Good idea, my lady," Percival says. "The king will appreciate a bath."

Guinevere smiles and opens her mouth to speak, but Arthur appears and steals her words. His eyes immediately find her and his handsome face breaks into a tender smile.

_I love him._

The realization washes over her quite suddenly, and her knees weaken slightly.

She vaguely registers Percival's strong, steadying hand on her elbow, but her attention is on her husband.

Merlin is chattering on about something, but his voice reduces to background noise as Arthur watches his wife. _Was she this beautiful when I left? _ He stops his horse near the stable hands, leaps down, and quickly strides over to Guinevere. _She should not be out in this weather._ "Guinevere," he says, opening his arms to receive her. "I missed you," he murmurs into her hair, holding her tightly.

"I missed you so much, Arthur," she answers, ignoring the cold bite of his chainmail against her skin. She feels his gloved fingertips touching her chin and lifts her head to receive his kiss.

"Let's go inside," he says. "I don't like you being out in this dampness."

She nods, and though she is reluctant to leave his embrace, she steps back and takes his hand. "There are some matters of state with which I dealt in your absence, but nothing that cannot wait," she tells him as they walk inside.

"Good, since I really do not wish to hear about any matters of state right now. There is much to tell you about what happened at the border, but it, too, can wait. We will discuss all of those topics tomorrow," Arthur says. "I wish to spend the rest of the day with my wife."

"I like that idea," Guinevere agrees.

They walk to the royal chambers, followed by Merlin, and the queen smiles when she sees the tub set up and water already being brought in.

"Guinevere, did you...?"

"I thought you might wish for a bath," she says. "Is... is that all right?"

"It's perfect," he answers, peeling off his gloves and tossing them on the table. He brings his hands up to cup her face. "_You_ are perfect," he adds, softly kissing her.

Merlin and Sefa bustle around them and pages swoop in and out with buckets, but neither the king nor queen pays them any mind. Guinevere unfastens Arthur's cloak. He removes it, then removes his wife's cloak.

He moves close to his wife and lightly touches her stomach. "How are you?" he asks, his voice soft and edged with concern.

"I am fine, Arthur," she answers, smiling and putting her hand over his. His worry for her makes her heart swell further, but she shies away from confessing her feelings, still a little unsure of how he will respond. "We are both fine. Percival took good care of us, but we were a bit lonely."

"I hated to be away from you during this time," he replies.

"Better now than in five months," she says, stroking his cheek with her thumb. She spies Sefa standing to one side, clearly waiting. "Yes, Sefa?" she turns towards her maidservant.

"My lady, the king's bath is ready," Sefa quietly says.

"Thank you, Sefa. That will be all," Guinevere answers. Sefa curtseys and disappears.

Guinevere waits while Merlin helps Arthur with his armor and chainmail. An idea forms, but she's not certain she's brave enough to follow it through until her mouth opens and the words are tumbling out.

"Merlin," she says, and the servant turns to her.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Please bring our dinner here in an hour," she instructs, hoping he understands he is being dismissed.

Merlin looks slightly confused, but Arthur comes to the rescue. "That will be all for now, Merlin," he says, pulling off his second boot.

The servant looks from Arthur to Guinevere then back again, blinks once, nods, and says, "Very good, Sire." He turns towards the door and briskly exits.

Arthur walks towards his wife on silent, bare feet. "Will you be attending my bath, my lady?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"If it pleases my lord," she answers with more confidence than she feels. She knows she is blushing but tries not to care.

"It does," he replies. "Very much." Now that they are alone, he pulls her fully into his arms and kisses her thoroughly, his tongue immediately seeking hers out, his hands roving her back. One slides down to her backside, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Your water is going to get cold," Guinevere whispers. "We have the rest of the night for... other things."

"Indeed," Arthur agrees. He pecks her lips, then steps back and pulls off his shirt before walking to the side of the tub. He shucks his trousers and steps into the soothingly hot water.

Guinevere pulls up a low stool, sits beside him, pushes up her sleeves, and reaches for the soap. It is the special soap she commissioned for him from Fira. She received the first bars two months ago, and Arthur immediately loved them. The king and queen now each have a standing order with the soapmaker.

She dips the cloth in the water and notices the cut on his forearm. It has been cleaned and doesn't look too bad, but it still gives her pause. "You're injured," she says, soaping the cloth and bringing it to his shoulder.

"Just a scratch," he answers. "It isn't deep. I didn't even realize I had been cut until the fighting was done."

She peers closely at the wound. "I will have Merlin bring something from Gaius for it," she says. "It is a little red."

"As you wish, my sweet," he says. He closes his eyes and allows her to work, never enjoying his bath quite so much. "I have missed your touch, Guinevere," he softly admits, reaching one hand up to cover hers. He kisses the back of it.

"You're going to get soap in your mouth," she whispers, watching as he smoothes the sudsy water from her wrist to kiss her pulse point.

"I don't care," he replies, kissing the spot once more just for emphasis. Then, he releases her hand so that she may continue her task. He leans forward to allow her to wash his back, then rests against the edge of the tub and closes his eyes. _This is amazingly wonderful. _She_ is amazingly wonderful._ "Is it too much to hope for to always be welcomed home in such a manner?" he sighs.

"I know it _is_ too much for me to hope that you will never leave, but I do not think it will be an inconvenience for me to welcome you home in a manner that pleases you," she answers with a slight smile. She dips the cloth below the water, determined to not be embarrassed when her hand moves lower.

"Oh... take care there, Wife," Arthur groans. "Three days is a long time to be away from you."

Guinevere softly gasps at his bold implication, moving her hand away to re-soap the cloth. She moves on to his legs next. "We have the rest of the evening to make up for lost time, Husband," she quietly answers. She feels her cheeks growing warm, and knows it is not caused by the steam rising from her husband's bath water.

Arthur moves, sloshing the water a bit, and leans up to kiss her neck. "Indeed, we do," he answers.


	8. Chapter 8

"Guinevere," Arthur softly murmurs, smoothing his wife's hair away from her face. "The council meeting is in an hour, my sweet." He's been up for over an hour already, but let the queen sleep longer. At seven months pregnant, she is growing uncomfortable and has started having difficulty getting adequate rest.

Guinevere squeezes her eyes more tightly closed and scrunches down into the covers of the bed. "I don't feel well," she mumbles.

Arthur's eyes widen, and he shoves down the immediate panic that rises within him. He places his hand on her forehead. "You _are_ a bit warm," he says. "And, I noticed you were sneezing quite a bit yesterday."

"My throat was a little sore, too," she replies, still not opening her eyes. "I don't want to move."

"You do not have to move," he says, bending to kiss her forehead.

"No. I need to get up... urgent matters..." she groans, attempting to sit up. Arthur immediately helps her, waving at Merlin across the room with one hand. The servant understands and darts out to fetch Sefa, who is no doubt hovering nearby, waiting for her mistress to need her.

"Well, _after_ that, you should come right back to bed," Arthur says. "You're shivering," he notes, quickly reaching for her robe.

"I probably caught something when we went into town last week," Guinevere replies, waiting as he places the robe over her shoulders.

Sefa hurries in and guides the queen behind the screen for a moment while Arthur frets on the other side. _I'm sure it's nothing serious. Just a cold, or perhaps a small flu. Maybe sweating sickness. Or, plague..._

The queen emerges and Arthur meets her, guiding her back to bed.

"Do you require anything, my lady?" Sefa asks, worried.

"Send for Gaius, please," Arthur answers.

"It's just a cold, Arthur," Guinevere protests.

"It would set my heart at ease if you would let Gaius see you," he counters. "Please. For me."

She is moved by the concern on his face and in his voice, and nods. "All right." Sefa curtseys and hurries out.

It's been three months since Guinevere realized she loves her husband, but she has kept her feelings unspoken. She has come close to telling him a few times. When she is lying with him, their limbs still tangled as she listens to his heartbeat slow back to normal. When he smiles the sweet smile he only has for her, then lifts her wrist to his lips, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent as he softly kisses her pulse point. When she saw the joyful tears in his eyes after he felt their child kick for the first time.

Guinevere could never summon the courage to speak the words, both from shyness and her wish to defer to Arthur. _He is my husband and king. What would he think of me if I said these words to him first, especially if he doesn't return the sentiment?_ She has seen several clues indicating her husband feels the same way, but the fact that he has not confessed his feelings makes her reluctant to confess hers.

Guinevere settles back into bed. "I'd like to sit up for a bit. I think it will help my head," she says, and Arthur immediately props pillows behind her back.

The king sits beside his wife on the bed, placing his hand on her stomach. He rubs it softly, then leans forward and kisses it.

"I'll be fine, Arthur. I probably caught this from that child with the runny nose who gave me those ribbons. The tailor's daughter. What is her name? Raisie."

Arthur smiles, remembering the child and the ribbons, but not recalling the girl's name or the fact that she had a runny nose. _Guinevere has such an eye for detail when it comes to people._ "Perhaps," he allows. "Are you hungry?" he asks, looking up at her with concern.

"A bit. I will wait until after I see Gaius," she answers, knowing there are some medicines that should be taken without food, just as there are some that should be taken with.

He nods. "I do not like that you are ill," he admits, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around her. He lays his head on her chest and closes his eyes.

"You should stay away from me so you do not catch my illness," she warns.

"I think we both know that's not going to happen," he replies, kissing her collarbone. He snuggles closer, just to further make his point.

There is a knock at the door, and Arthur lifts his head. "Come," he calls, reluctantly standing.

Gaius walks in, nodding deferentially to the king and queen. "Sefa tells me you are ill, my lady," he says.

"I'm certain it's nothing," Guinevere says. Then, she sneezes. Then, she coughs, and makes an unhappy noise as the cough irritates her sore throat.

"Yes, that certainly sounds like nothing, Gwen," Gaius smiles indulgently at the queen. Guinevere had given him leave to address her familiarly shortly after Arthur's trip to Longstead. The physician agreed, but only does so in private.

"It's just a cold," she insists as Gaius begins to examine her.

"Most likely," he answers. "No discomfort with the child?"

"No, he is fine," she replies with a smile.

"Perhaps Evelyn should be told nevertheless," Arthur suggests.

"I don't think that's—"

"I will send her a message," Gaius nods at the king. He turns back to Guinevere. "I would have done even if he hadn't suggested it, my lady," he adds with a smile.

"I think you're both overreacting," she says. "I just need a little rest." She angles her head, stretching her neck one way, then the other.

"Is your neck stiff?" Gaius asks.

"A little," she admits.

"I think it's more than a little," Arthur comments.

"You do need rest," Gaius agrees. "And, I will send Merlin up with a draught I would like you to take."

Guinevere purses her lips, but nods.

"How is your head? Any headache?"

"Yes," she quietly admits.

Gaius nods, pats the queen's clasped hands, and stands. "You are to rest, Gwen. No council meetings, no wandering the castle. Nothing strenuous. You can get out of bed if you need a change of scenery, but I would prefer it if you stay in the royal chambers."

"Thank you, Gaius," Arthur says.

"She will be fine, Arthur," the physician assures him, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Arthur nods, grateful.

Gaius leaves, and Arthur joins his wife on the bed again.

"You do not need to put on a brave face for me, Guinevere," he says, taking her hand.

"I'm not," she replies. He raises an eyebrow at her. "Perhaps, I am. A little," she sighs.

There is another knock at the door, and Arthur bids whoever it is enter.

"Council meeting soon, Sire," Merlin says, poking his head inside.

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur answers. He turns to Guinevere. "Rest. Please."

"I will," she assures him, squeezing his hand. She turns her head away and coughs into her elbow, and Merlin walks over with a handkerchief for her. "Thank you," she says.

Arthur kisses her wrist, then her forehead. "I'll be back after Council," he quietly says. He releases her hand and stands. Just before he leaves, he looks back at her, grants her a small smile, and exits.

xXx

When Guinevere wakes an hour later, she is congested and her neck is stiffer than before. There is a bottle on the nightstand with a small cup beside it.

"Ugh," she groans, pulling herself upright again. She feels slightly dizzy, so she waits a moment before fully sitting up. She sniffles, then coughs, and a moment later, Sefa appears.

"My lady?" she asks.

"You've been waiting for me to wake," Guinevere says, smiling.

"I was doing my reading," the maidservant points to the table in the main chamber, where a book is sitting open.

"Good," the queen replies, glancing at the bottle again.

"Merlin brought this up, my lady. He said Gaius instructs that you are to drink some with each meal."

"All right," Guinevere answers. "What time is it?"

"Nearly noon, my lady. Merlin should be bringing lunch presently. The king has been in several times."

Guinevere nods. _He's so worried about me._ "I would like to get out of this bed," she says.

Sefa hesitates. "Yes, my lady."

"Gaius said I could get out of bed. I'm not to leave the royal chambers, but I can get up and move around," Guinevere explains, remembering her maid was not present when Gaius examined her.

Sefa helps her mistress to her feet. "Where would you like to go, my lady?"

"I think my vanity. My hair is coming undone," she says, walking to the chair.

"Yes, my lady," Sefa answers, following closely. "I daresay it may feel good to have your hair brushed out and loose for a bit."

Guinevere nods, letting her maid unwind her hair. She studies her reflection in the large mirror. _I've looked better. _Her eyes are bleary and her skin is a tad sallow. That, combined with her slightly rounder face due to the pregnancy renders the image in the mirror slightly unfamiliar. She sighs, closes her eyes, and enjoys the feel of Sefa's fingers combing through her hair, easing the larger tangles free.

Her eyes open again at the sound of the door. "Guinevere, you're awake," Arthur says. Merlin is with him, carrying their lunches.

"I woke a short time ago," she says, managing a smile for him. "I look terrible," she adds, glancing at the mirror again.

"You most certainly do not," Arthur insists, coming over and kissing her forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Slightly worse," Guinevere admits.

Arthur frowns and kisses her forehead again, smoothing his hand over her hair. "I am sorry to hear that," he says.

"It must run its course," she replies, starting to stand.

He reaches out to assist her and guides her to the table. "I do not like that you are unwell," he says. He kisses her hand and helps her into the chair.

"I know. I would feel the same if you were ill," she answers.

He smiles, but there is a deeper sadness in his eyes. She wonders at it, but then he begins telling her about the Council meeting, and her puzzlement is forgotten for the time being.

She learns the meeting went smoothly, and the Council members were all concerned for her well-being. Thankfully, there were no matters of grave importance that needed discussion.

Sefa and Merlin tidy the royal chambers while their sovereigns eat, and once the sheets are changed and the bed is made, Merlin brings the bottle of medicine over to Guinevere, setting it on the table beside her.

"Thank you," the queen answers. She has finished eating, so she nods at the servant. Merlin pours out the appropriate amount and recaps the bottle. She lifts it to her lips, sniffs it, makes a face, then drinks it. "Ugh," she pronounces, making a face, "that's terrible."

"Sorry, my lady. It _will_ help you," Merlin assures.

Guinevere makes a rather un-queenly noise, and hands the small cup to Merlin.

xXx

Arthur returns to the royal chambers later that day, back from afternoon training. He wasn't going to go, but Guinevere insisted, saying he shouldn't shirk his duties just because she has a cold.

The queen is slumped in an upholstered chair in front of the fireplace, the family tree tapestry spread across her lap.

_She should have been resting, not working on that._ Arthur steps closer and sees that she has been adding things to the tapestry. Not names, though she has gotten the branch leading from their two names completed, but things. Little items interwoven into and around the tree.

An apple. Two rings. Some sort of... flowered wreath? Arthur leans in closer, curious to see what else she's hidden in there. A bow and arrow. A sword. She appears to be in the middle of embroidering some fallen leaves in shades of orange and brown near the base of the tree.

He stands upright, remembering. _The picnic, on that last warm autumn day. She was collecting pretty leaves as we sat and talked, spinning them between her fingers by their stems. _He smiles. _There was a spider on one, and she jumped, yelping adorably._

Arthur leans down again, and suddenly, all the items make sense. _These are memories. The apple from our journey here. The rings, symbolizing our wedding. The wreath is from the tournament. The bow and arrow from Olaf's visit. The sword...? That must be for me. She does like to watch me train the knights._

Smiling, he carefully lifts the tapestry from her lap, eases his arms underneath her, and carries her to the bed.

"Mmm," she sighs, turning her head against his neck. "Arthur?" she mumbles, lifting her head.

"You were sleeping in the chair," he softly says, setting her gently on the bed.

"You shouldn't be carrying me... I'm too big," she weakly protests.

"You're a bit late, and no, you're not too big," he replies. "Do you need anything?"

"Perhaps, some water," she answers.

He pours her a goblet of water from a pitcher and hands it to her. Then, he yanks off his boots and joins her on the bed.

"How was training?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Uneventful. Cold. But, we have six men who will be ready to be full knights come spring."

Guinevere nods. "I have always enjoyed knighting ceremonies." She hands him the goblet, and he sets it on the side table.

"Really?" Arthur asks, intrigued.

"Well, yes," she answers as he pulls her against his chest. "The focus is on the knights. I do not have to be the center of attention."

He chuckles, remembering how she does not enjoy the more public aspects of her life. "Of course."

They lie on the bed together for a short time, Guinevere in Arthur's arms, watching the light grow dim as the sun sets.

"Arthur, if there is something you should be doing..." she ventures after a time. "I'm not trying to get rid of you, but I do not want you to think you need to stay here just because..."

"No, I have nowhere else to be," he answers.

"There were no audiences today?"

"I may have postponed them," he admits.

"Arthur... what if it was something important?"

"I checked. There was nothing scheduled that needed immediate attention."

"You should hold audience tomorrow," she recommends. Then, she sneezes, and he hands her a handkerchief from the side table. "Thank you."

"That will depend on how you are feeling," he replies.

"I do not need to be present. I saw the farmer, Bavol, and our new stablehand, Keaton, while you were in Longstead," she reminds him.

"And, you did an admirable job, my queen," he says, kissing her cheek. "I will hold audience tomorrow," he sighs. "I would just prefer you be there with me. You are a calming presence for our people."

"I am?" she asks.

"Yes. Everyone is really quite taken with you, my sweet. Except, perhaps, Lord Audric. But, he is a bit of a weed anyway." She chuckles and he reaches down to caress her swollen stomach, leaving his hand there. "Has he been kicking?"

"A little," she answers, moving his hand to a different spot.

"Ah. There he is." He smiles, lightly rubbing her belly. "I like what you're doing with the tapestry, by the way. Very clever."

"Thank you," she answers, pleased he noticed.

They are quiet again while Arthur chases their child's activity around on his wife's stomach for a few minutes. "Merlin should be here soon with dinner," he says.

"I suppose so," she allows. "I am not very hungry."

"You must e—"

"Yes, I know I must eat," she says with a smile. "I would not starve our child."

He wraps his arms around her, holding her close. "How is your head?"

"Stuffy," she answers. "I can breathe, but it feels like I am underwater."

"I hate that feeling," he empathizes. There is a knock at the door. "Ah. That will be our dinner." He turns his face towards the door and calls, "Come."

xXx

"Guinevere!" Arthur exclaims, pulling his wife's thrashing body into his arms, trying to still and wake her before she hurts herself. He was jolted awake by the sounds of her screams. "Guinevere, Love, wake up, you're having a nightmare," he urgently coaxes. Her hands are covering her face, so he kisses her forehead. "Guinevere..."

Guinevere's body stills, the cries of "No!" die away, and she sniffles. Her hands fall from her face and she blinks up at him. "Arthur?" she asks, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Yes, it's all right," he says, his voice soft. "You were having a nightmare," he informs, gently wiping her tears. Her face is hot and damp, as though she had been crying for some time.

"I—" Her voice breaks off in a gasp. She frantically pulls away, groping for her stomach. Her hands land on her swollen belly and she breathes again, rubbing the bump with both hands. "He was gone," she whispers, her breath catching. "Our baby."

"Oh, Guinevere... oh, no..." Arthur pulls her back to him, holding and kissing her wherever he can reach. "Do you remember what happened? Will you tell me?"

"I only remember... flashes," she says, her hands still on her stomach, needing the reassurance that their baby is still there. _Please move. Kick. Something to tell me you're alive._ A moment later, she feels a gentle movement. Not exactly a kick, but he definitely moved. After that confirmation, she can speak again. "It was dark. I was... walking. Following something."

"A voice?"

"No. It was..." she pauses, closing her eyes, trying to remember. She wants to tell him. Needs to exorcise the images from her brain by sharing them with her worried husband. "A golden thread. Like a trail."

He furrows his brows, curious, waiting for her to continue.

"It was so dark, but the thread was bright. I... I saw the tapestry a distance ahead of me, hanging up."

"The thread was from the tapestry?"

"Yes," she nods. "It was leading to the spot where our child's name will be added. There... there was a name there, but I couldn't make it out, so I kept walking, wanting to see."

"Of course," he replies, understanding the impulse.

"It was unraveling," Guinevere says, her voice softer. "The closer I got, the more the name unraveled. I never got to see what it was."

"How strange," Arthur replies. _Strange, but not necessarily scary. A little creepy, perhaps..._

"It gets worse," she continues, guessing his thoughts. "The thread fell, and there was this... pain. A scream. That might have been me, I don't know. Next thing I knew, I was looking down at my feet." She looks up at him. "My _feet,_ Arthur."

The queen hasn't been able to look down at her feet for about a month.

He has no words, so he kisses her forehead and cheeks, then strokes her hair.

"There was blood everywhere," she whispers. "It was pouring out of me. Running down my legs, pooling at my feet. I felt like I'd been sliced in half. I couldn't move, because the golden thread was wrapping itself around me. The blood kept rising. I was falling." She looks up at him. "Then, I heard your voice calling me, and I woke up."

He wipes her tears again, then lifts her chin and kisses her lips, not caring if he catches her cold. "That explains why you were struggling," he says, kissing the top of her head. He closes his eyes, but the image of Guinevere standing in a puddle of her own blood flashes in his mind's eye. His stomach lurches. _Oh, gods, I haven't entertained the thought of losing the baby since Evelyn informed us it was safe to make the news known_. He pushes this sudden, concerning, realization aside, knowing he needs to support his wife right now.

"I know it doesn't sound like much of a nightmare," she says, "but it was terrifying."

"I'm certain it was," he replies. "But, you are here, with me, and safe. Both of you." He reaches down and places his hand over hers on her belly.

She nods, closing her eyes. "I'm so tired," she sighs.

"Do you need anything? Water?" he asks.

"I need you to keep holding me," she answers, moving closer to him.

"I can do that," he says, adjusting the blankets over them before bringing his arms back around his wife.

Thankfully, Guinevere falls asleep quickly, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts. He absently kisses her hair, listening to her breathing.

The king lies awake for a while, pondering his wife's nightmare, trying to not let it infect his thoughts as well. _Surely, th__is__ is a fear every expectant mother experiences. I had never thought of it from that side before._ He holds her a little tighter and softly kisses her forehead. She sighs in her sleep, hopefully not troubled any longer.

Dawn is not far off by the time Arthur finally stops keeping watch over Guinevere and allows himself to get some sleep. He knows he will be tired tomorrow, but his wife's rest is more important to him.

xXx

The next day passes much the same as the previous. Guinevere's cold is progressing, growing slightly worse before it can get better. The people have begun to get word that their queen is ill, and some gifts arrive at the castle, all bearing notes wishing her a rapid recovery.

Understandably, the news of the queen's pregnancy was met with much excitement and happiness. Nobles and peasants alike were overjoyed to hear their queen is with child. King Leodegrance and Prince Elyan have already sent several lavish gifts for the baby. Arthur and Guinevere have also received gifts from Caerleon and Annis as well as Cenred and Morgana. Camelot's heir has been the talk of the five kingdoms, and now that Queen Guinevere is unwell, her people wish to show their concern.

"Fira has sent more cream, my lady," Sefa says, beginning to prepare the queen's bath that evening. "Um, she will not take payment for this one. It is a gift since you are ill." She sets the jar on the vanity table. The soapmaker had recommended the cream for the queen to help keep the skin on her stomach smooth during her pregnancy. Thus far, it has been working.

"That—" Guinevere pauses, sneezing twice, "isn't necessary, but please tell her thank you very much," she says, not wishing to insult Fira by refusing her gift or sending payment. She starts to climb out of bed.

"I will, my lady. Please, my lady, stay there until the water is ready. It's quite cold today. I will come to you," the maidservant says, hurrying over. "I can secure your hair just as easily with you sitting in bed."

"I had hoped to have it washed," Guinevere says.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I would really rather not have to answer to the king if he were to come in and find you with damp hair in this cold," Sefa says. She has one page stoking the fire as hot as he can get it while others move in and out of the room with buckets, filling the tub, which has been placed close to the fire.

The queen sighs. "Yes, you are right. It will wait."

A page nods at Sefa, indicating the queen's bath is ready. "Thank you," the maidservant answers.

Guinevere smiles, noting how her maid seems to have risen in the unwritten hierarchy of servants. Much like Merlin, the other servants now look to her for guidance and defer to her judgment.

Merlin is definitely held in the highest esteem with Hazel, the head maid, just beneath him, but in the queen's estimation, Sefa is now next in line. The queen is proud of her maidservant, pleased that the sweet, shy girl has earned some well-deserved respect.

Sefa works quickly, undressing her mistress and getting her into the bath as quickly as possible.

Guinevere sinks into the tub, letting the hot water soothe her achy muscles.

Just as Sefa is tucking her freshly-bathed mistress back into bed, Arthur returns.

"Well, he'll be spending the night in the dungeons," he announces. He had been called away after dinner to deal with a man found stealing from the royal farrier.

"Did he give a reason why?" Guinevere asks.

Arthur steps over to her and kisses her cheek, sitting on the edge of the bed. "No. Horseshoes seem like such an odd thing to steal. That's why he's in the dungeons. Maybe a night freezing his arse off on a thin mat will render him willing to talk."

Guinevere nods. They do heat the dungeons, because not doing so would be inhumane, even deadly at certain times of the year, but it is still quite cold down there. So she's heard. She hasn't visited that part of the castle and really has no plans to do so.

"How was your bath?" he asks. "You smell wonderful, even if you don't _feel_ wonderful."

She smiles weakly. "It was very relaxing. I like having the tub beside the fireplace."

"That does sound nice. Perhaps, we should always place it there in the winter," he says.

"I'd like that," she answers. "Sefa, that will be all for tonight. Thank you."

Sefa curtseys and leaves the king and queen alone.

Arthur stands to remove his boots, and his eyes land on the bottle of medicine resting nearby. _That hasn't been moved since this morning. And, it doesn't appear to be any emptier._ He saw her take the morning dose, but had to rush out after both lunch and dinner when she should have taken more.

"Guinevere," he ventures, troubled, "have you been—" He is interrupted by a knock at the door. "Yes, Merlin..."

Merlin opens the door and enters.

"I won't be needing your services this evening, Merlin," Arthur says, stopping his servant.

"Oh? Um, all right," Merlin answers, perplexed. He can see Arthur is troubled about something, but cannot see Guinevere. He gives a slight bow and leaves.

"Have I been what, Arthur?" Guinevere asks, not having noticed where he was looking.

He picks up the bottle. "Drinking this like you are supposed to be doing," he finishes, raising his eyebrows at her.

The sharp look of worry makes her hesitate a moment. "I... took some this morning," she quietly answers.

"But, not at lunch or dinner," he says, very pointedly _not_ asking.

"No," she says, looking away.

"Guinevere, you need to take this medicine!" he exclaims, putting the bottle back on the table so forcefully she jumps.

"It tastes bad," she whispers, alarmed at his demeanor.

"It... _tastes bad?_" he repeats, incredulous. "You are not only sick, you are carrying our child, and you are intentionally _not_ taking the medicine Gaius sent because _it tastes bad?_"

"It doesn't seem to be helping anyway," she ventures, realizing her argument is rather weak.

Arthur walks a few steps away, raking his hand through his hair. "Guinevere," he starts, his voice lower, but no less anguished, "it's not going to get a chance to help you if you don't take it the way you're supposed to." His voice grows louder again as he talks. "I can't believe you'd be so irresponsible!" he finishes, nearly yelling.

"Why are so you upset about this?" she asks, trying not to be too hurt by his raised voice, because deep down, she knows he's right. "I'm the one who is suffering the consequences of my choice. Why does it matter to you?"

"Because, I love you and I want you to be well!" he blurts, his loud voice breaking. He exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping. "I don't want to lose you..." he adds, softer now. "I love you, Guinevere," he repeats, his voice gentle again as he sits on the bed and takes her hands.

"You do?" she quietly asks, her heart swelling as she looks into his eyes.

"Yes, I do. Very much, and I have been a fool to not have realized it sooner." He kisses her lips, cupping her face in his hands. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you," he adds, resting his forehead against hers.

She melts, tears springing to her eyes as she throws herself into his arms, pressing her face into his neck. He holds her tightly, her familiar warmth so good, so right pressed up against him. "I love you, too, Arthur," she whispers, her lips brushing his skin.

"You... you do?" he asks, sounding slightly surprised.

She nods against his neck, then leans back. "I realized it when you returned from Longstead," she says. "I... I missed you so much... was so worried about you, and I couldn't figure out why. Then, I saw your face as you rode into the courtyard, and everything made sense. I love you."

He kisses her again, then says, "Guinevere, that was three months ago! Why haven't you said anything?" He caresses her cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

"Well... you are my husband and my king," she quietly says, looking down. "And, you hadn't said anything, so... I mean, I had an _inkling,_ but you never..." she pauses and looks up at him. "What would you have said, what would you have thought of me had I confessed my feelings then?"

He takes a moment to think before answering. "I don't know if I can accurately answer that question, but... perhaps it would have helped me realize that I also loved you," he answers.

"That is a very diplomatic answer," she replies, smiling.

He laughs, then moves more fully onto the bed, pulling her against his chest. "Perhaps," he allows, "but that doesn't make it any less true. My feelings for you may not have come into focus until recently, but... I'm pretty sure they have been there for a while. I just couldn't... define them. If that makes any sense at all."

"It does," she answers. "And, I've come close to telling you a few times, but I always lost my nerve. Or, we weren't alone."

"Well, I hope you tell me as often as you wish from now on," he says, kissing her forehead. He is quiet for a few minutes, then says, "I think my journey to Longstead is when I started realizing I loved you as well."

"Oh?"

"Mmm-hmm. Whenever I had a spare moment to have a thought of my own – that is, able to think about something other than the mission at hand – those thoughts were always of you," he says.

"They were?"

"Yes. Wondering how you were faring here alone, thinking of how much you would like the inn at which we stayed," he pauses here as she smiles up at him, "and, just missing you and wishing I was here. With you."

She tucks her head under his chin and squeezes him. "I needed reassurance from Gaius and Percival that you would return home to me, safe and whole," she admits.

"You received good advice then," he nods. He kisses her forehead again. "Leon said some things on the journey that got me thinking as well," he tells her.

"Leon? Really?" she asks, surprised.

"Oh, nothing inappropriate," he assures her. "Because, as you know, Leon is _never_ inappropriate."

"Of course," Guinevere says, chuckling, relieved her husband seems to be returning to his usual demeanor.

Arthur goes on to detail, as best as he can remember, a few of the things he discussed with his First Knight. "Leon and I have known one another a very long time, and I consider him a friend," he concludes. "We started training together, though he is a year older than me."

"When was that?" Guinevere asks.

"I was six."

"Six? That's very young. We didn't start training boys in Cameliard until they were at least nine. Elyan started a bit earlier, but _six_?"

He nods and smiles. "That is true here as well, mostly. There are exceptions, if a boy shows aptitude early, or his father is a knight."

"Or, if he is the prince," she adds.

He chuckles. "Well, yes. As the prince, I was given special dispensation. Perhaps, it was because I was a bit of an energetic child..." he answers, his mind drifting into memory for a moment before snapping back. "And, Leon's father was the First Knight of Camelot when he was younger."

"I see," she nods, smiling. "What of your other lead knights? Was it the same for them? I remember you said Gwaine has not been here very long..."

Arthur nods. "Gwaine arrived four years ago, carrying only a rucksack, a battered family crest, and two parchments validating his lineage and knighthood. And, his sword, of course."

"Of course. Your father allowed him to join with so few credentials?" Guinevere asks, snuggling against his chest.

He gives her a gentle squeeze, and continues. "Surprisingly, yes. He knew of Gwaine's father by reputation, and was willing to allow him to join the ranks – provided he proved himself worthy – based on that fact alone. Gwaine's father was Lord of several small villages in Mercia, under King Creoda."

"Why is he no longer there?"

"He is curiously tight-lipped about his past," Arthur says, kissing the top of her head. "All we know is he was away on some sort of business for the king, and when he returned, his whole family had been taken by the plague."

"Oh, no," Guinevere gasps, her heart going out to the knight. She never would have guessed he had such tragedy in his past.

"I have reason to believe he didn't come _directly_ here after that. I think he did some wandering and carousing for a while before he found himself within our borders," he explains.

"Everyone deals with grief differently," she says.

"Indeed," he allows. "So, Gwaine had to face me in battle to prove his worth to my father."

"Is that when he bested you?"

Arthur chuckles. "No. He came close, but I won out in the end. Thankfully. You see, though I was the prince and was allowed to begin my training at a very young age, I was also held to a higher standard by my father. And, honestly, myself."

"Of course," Guinevere nods, understanding.

"Gwaine did not defeat me until just over a year ago, shortly after I became king," he explains. "But, that is a story for another day, and possibly one Gwaine would be happier to tell than I." He grins down at her.

"Undoubtedly," she grins back, looking up at him.

"How is your head?" he asks, skimming her brow with his fingertips.

"It's... fair. My neck is quite stiff," she answers.

"Here," he shifts them, moving to sit behind her. Then, he begins gently massaging her shoulders and neck, occasionally kissing the fragrant skin.

"Mmm, thank you," she purrs, dropping her head. "What of Percival? I get the feeling he hasn't been here very long either."

"Your feeling is correct, Love," he says, kissing the back of her neck. Guinevere smiles, liking the sound of this new endearment very much. "Percival first came to Camelot about two and a half years ago, as a knight of Cornwall."

"King Marke. I have met him," she says. "He is kind and intelligent."

"Mmm, perhaps I should look into contacting him about repairing our relationship then," Arthur comments. "If he has met you, I am sure he was impressed."

"Are you planning on using me, Husband?" Guinevere asks, amused.

"Only with your consent, Wife," he answers, leaning forward to lightly nip her ear.

"It's not a bad idea actually," she allows. "But, we are talking about Percival now."

"Right. He was here for a tournament with a few other knights. He came in second."

"You won," she declares.

"Barely," he snorts a laugh. "When the tournament was over, he returned to Cornwall with his party. Then, a month later, he was back, bearing a letter of recommendation from his king."

"Why did he come back? Oh. Corliss," she reasons.

"Corliss" he confirms. "They met at some point during the tournament, and he promised her he would be back. Apparently, Marke has a romantic side."

"You would do the same," Guinevere says, peeking over her shoulder at him.

"Probably," Arthur allows. "Marke still has Percival's brothers among his knights, so it isn't exactly like he was left helpless. He has three brothers. Two are older, one, younger."

"Are they all as big as Percival?" she asks.

"I haven't met them all, but yes, they're big. It is my understanding that his whole family is quite strapping. His younger brother, Galahad, is the largest one, in fact. A regular giant, him."

"Goodness," she replies. "Did he compete in the tournament?"

"Yes," Arthur says. "He's big, but a bit slow on his feet." He chuckles. "Leon managed to get underneath and knocked those slow feet out from under him."

Guinevere laughs, and Arthur pulls her back against his chest. "I love hearing your laugh," he says, kissing her temple. "And, I love you."

"I love you, too, Arthur," she answers.

His hands come around and caress her stomach, and he feels the baby kick against his hand. "Seems like someone else is happy, too," he says, and she giggles.

"Arthur," she begins, her voice serious again.

"Yes?"

"Would you have a small snack sent up for me so I can take this terrible medicine?" she asks.

Arthur smiles and kisses her shoulder, relieved that his wife is willing to take Gaius' remedy. "Of course. What would you like?" He eases himself out from behind her.

"Just some fruit. Maybe a little cheese. And, bread," she says.

He chuckles. "Oh, is that all? You don't require a roast chicken or anything?" he grins impishly at her.

"Stop," she laughs.

He leans down and kisses her. "I am merely happy your appetite is returning," he says. "I'll be back in a moment." He goes to the door and speaks to a guard outside, then comes back to his wife.

When Merlin arrives a short time later, Arthur instructs him to ask Gaius if there is something he can do to make the queen's draught taste better for her. Merlin nods and disappears.

Guinevere eats her snack in bed while Arthur changes. She is just finishing when there is a knock at the door. Arthur goes to answer it, and is surprised to see Gaius standing there, looking somewhat contrite.

"Gaius," the king greets, stepping aside to let the physician in. "I was expecting Merlin."

"Forgive me, Sire, but I fear I might owe the queen an apology," Gaius says. "May I?"

"Of course," Arthur holds his hand out, indicating the older man should proceed into the sleeping chamber.

"How are you, my lady?" Gaius asks, smiling at the queen.

"All right, thank you. Tired and a little achy, but I think I'm getting a bit better."

Gaius picks up the bottle of medicine, sniffs it, then pours a little into the cup. He drinks it. "Ugh. You have my deepest apologies, my lady," Gaius says, withdrawing another bottle from his pocket. "In my haste, I forgot to add honey. It's the only thing that makes this vile concoction palatable."

xXx

"My mother died in childbirth," Arthur says, his voice incredibly soft in the darkness. They had snuffed out the last candle a short time ago, and Guinevere could tell her husband still had something on his mind, though he claimed he was nearly as tired as she.

Guinevere quietly gasps, realization hitting her square in the forehead. _That is why he was so upset about the medicine. Why he has been hovering like a worried hen these past two days._ What she had perceived as unnecessary worry is, to him, extremely necessary. "I'm so sorry, Arthur," she answers, turning in his arms to lie facing him. She cannot get as close as she would like due to her stomach, but it will have to do.

"Since we learned you were with child, it's... it's been in the back of my mind. Always there, plaguing me. That fear." As he talks, his fingers trace idle circles on her shoulder, her stomach, anywhere his hands seem to land. "The fear that you, too, may..."

"Shh," she gently hushes him, leaning up to kiss him because she doesn't know what to say. She knew his mother died when he was young, but didn't realize it was in childbirth.

"I used to blame myself... use to think I killed her..." he continues, his voice quiet. "I was a mess for a solid year, when I was 12."

"That is a complicated age for any child, much less a royal one imposing guilt on himself," she answers. "I was eight when my mother died, and I wasn't able to truly understand all of it until I was 14. I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for you."

Arthur nods, kissing her forehead. "Father was no help. He would never speak of her, wouldn't address my fears about her death which only made it worse. His continued refusals made me feel like _he_ held me responsible for her death as well."

Guinevere holds him tighter as tears threaten to fall. Her heart breaks for a young, confused Arthur, a boy who only wanted his father to love him, who _needed_ his remaining parent to comfort and assure him. "I am sorry, Arthur."

"Thank you," he replies. "Eventually, I stopped trying to ask Father and turned to Gaius. He was there when I was born. Well, right outside anyway."

"What did he tell you?"

"He said the midwife knew there was a chance of complications. So did my mother. She told Father, but he wouldn't listen."

"Stubborn," Guinevere says.

"Yes, but... my father did love my mother. However, I don't think he was capable of acknowledging that there could be a problem. He couldn't deal with the thought of losing her, so... he didn't." Arthur pauses. "I understand that, to some extent."

"Evelyn has been nothing but optimistic," she assures him.

"I know, but... you would tell me if she had concerns?" he asks.

She looks up at him and sees such pain and sadness in his eyes. She reaches up and wipes a tear that has just escaped and says, "Yes. I definitely would."

He nods once. "Thank you. And, unlike my father, I will listen and accept any news."

She slightly smiles, touched by his earnest concern. "What else did Gaius tell you?"

"He said when a mother dies in childbirth, it is never the child's fault. 'An innocent babe cannot kill anyone, Arthur,' he said. 'Any mother in the same situation, if given the choice between her life and her child's, will choose her child's. Her decision was made from her love for you, your father, and for Camelot.' That is what it came down to in the end: her life or mine," Arthur says. "She gave up her life so I could live."

"And, your father couldn't understand that," Guinevere ventures. She completely understands Queen Ygraine's decision, because she would do exactly the same.

"I sometimes wondered if he would have made her choose differently, had he been allowed to be there. If he would give me up if it meant getting her back."

Guinevere doesn't know what to say. Her husband's revelations have shed so much light on his personality. His open and constant affection for her, his compassion for his people, and his acknowledgment of the worth of others are all things he did not receive from his father. _He really was not speaking in jest when he said he uses Uther as a guide for how _not _to be a king._

"Gaius is like family to me," Arthur continues.

"He told me he feels 'grandfatherly' towards you," Guinevere interjects.

"Yes, I suppose that's accurate," he smiles. "He reassured me that I was neither to blame for my mother's death nor my father's attitude. He patiently reiterated these points to me in various ways until I believed them."

"He is a wonderful man," she agrees. "Was he ever married?"

"No. I understand that is another tragic tale. Merlin knows some of it, but says it is not his story to tell. All I know is her name is – was? She may be dead, I don't know – Alice, and they were unable to be together. I do not know why." He sighs, pulling her as close as he is able.

"How very sad," she says. She leans up and looks down at him. "I am sure your mother is watching over you, Arthur, and is proud of the man you have become. Everyone I have spoken to who knew her says what a kind, compassionate queen she was." She caresses his face, and he captures her hand to kiss her wrist. "I know she loved you, even though she did not get to know you. I am certain of this because I already love our child."

Arthur blinks, and another tear escapes from his eye. Guinevere wipes it away. "Thank you, my love," he replies. "Believe it or not, your words mean a lot. I accept the circumstances of my mother's death, though it saddens me I did not know her. But, I never tire of hearing reassurances of her love for me." He sadly smiles, his blue eyes shining in the faint moonlight now casting a silver glow about the room.

She gazes at her husband, this fascinating, complex, flawed man who she loves. _The best of his mother has enabled him to take the worst of his father and turn it into a cautionary tale._ "You are a wonderful person, Arthur. Never forget that. I think you have a lot of your mother's good qualities in you."

"I like to think so," he agrees, smiling. "I am sorry I lost my temper with you, Guinevere. I just..."

She stops his apology with a gentle kiss. "I know, Arthur. I know now anyway. You worry about me, and now I understand why."

"I meant what I said," he says.

"You always do, but to what particular item are you currently referring?" she asks.

He chuckles, pulling her back down into his arms. "The item where I said I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you," he clarifies. "It almost seems silly. We've only been married nine months; only _known each other_ nine months, yet you have become such a permanent part of my life... my heart... that I can no longer imagine my existence without you."

"I would not want to even imagine that scenario," she agrees, kissing his collarbone. "I fear I would be lost."

He hugs her tightly, then leans down and kisses her, softly but passionately. "I love you... so much, Guinevere. More than I would have thought possible."

"I love you, too, Arthur. It... it's a little strange and a little scary, but mostly wonderful," she answers.

He smiles, kisses her again, then helps her to settle against him as he reaches down to run his hand affectionately over her belly.

"I am sorry I am sick," Guinevere says after a few quiet moments filled with soft touches.

"It's all right, Love," Arthur says. "You will be better before you know it."

"It's not exactly that," she says, tucking her head under his chin to hide her blush. "I am sorry I am sick because I cannot _show_ you how much I love you."

He smiles and kisses her head. "Oh, that..." he rumbles, chuckling suggestively. "We will have time for such activities when you are better." He kisses her again and says, "You show me your love in many, many other ways, too."

She sighs against him. "So do you, Arthur. As I said, I had an inkling, based on nothing more than your actions."

"How do you already know me so well?" he wonders.

"The same way you already know _me_ so well," she answers.

He lifts her chin and kisses her lips. "I know I love you. You must never doubt that."

"I will never doubt your love," she answers, "just as you must never doubt mine."


	9. Chapter 9

"Sire." The midwife's voice is quiet, but it rings through the corridor.

The king stops pacing and spins on his bare feet to look at her, his blue eyes wide.

"The queen is asking for you, my lord," Evelyn says, smiling. Her hair is slightly disheveled, her skin has a light sheen of sweat, and there is blood on her apron, but she appears pleased. Happy.

Without a word, Arthur hurries into the royal chambers.

Four hours earlier, Guinevere had woken with a start. Her stomach was tight and uncomfortable, and it seemed the baby was especially active. "Hush now," she whispered, pressing her hand against the side of her stomach. She turned onto her other side, tucking an extra pillow under her belly in an attempt to get more comfortable. She closed her eyes, and a few minutes later, she felt her baby move again, as though he was rolling his entire body around. _My goodness,_ she had thought.

Then, there was a sudden, warm wetness between her legs.

_Oh._

Her eyes flew open and her hand reached out to her husband, her palm finding his solid torso beside her. "Arthur," she said. Pushing his shoulder again, she cried, "_Arthur._"

"Hmm?" Arthur pried his eyes open, and his wife's startled expression told him exactly what was happening. "It's time?" he asked, scrambling out of bed, becoming tangled in the sheets, and nearly falling to the floor. "Bugger…" he cursed, then found his feet. "I'll send for Evelyn," he said, hastily pulling on a shirt.

"Thank you," she said, curling around her stomach.

Arthur started toward the door, hesitated, and rushed back. "Everything is going to be fine, Love. I promise," he whispered more confidently than he actually felt, kissed her forehead, cheek, and, when she turned her head, lips. "I love you," he said, then dashed to the door.

He spent the next four hours pacing the corridor. Gaius arrived shortly after Evelyn, hovering nearby in case his assistance was needed.

A short time later, a tired, rumpled Merlin joined them, accompanied by Sir Percival.

Arthur nodded at the knight, a slight smile of understanding on his face.

"I was on night patrol when Merlin collided with me," Percival explained, leaning against the wall, watching his king anxiously walk back and forth. "Thought you might like some support."

The king paused in front of the large knight, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," Arthur quietly said. A groan sounded from the other side of the doors, and his head snapped in that direction.

He dropped his hand and resumed pacing. Each time there was a sound from inside the royal chambers, he would stop, his eyes fixed on the entrance.

After the first hour, it became apparent to the three other men that their king needed only their presence, not their words, so they stopped trying to reassure him. But, they stayed.

In the small hours of the morning, the cry of a baby reached their ears. Arthur stopped pacing for about 30 seconds, his eyes glued to the doors. When no one came to fetch him, he resumed, waiting with as much patience as he could muster.

It was another 30 minutes before the latch moved and the doors creaked open.

The king enters the royal chambers, nodding at Evelyn as he passes. The midwife steps into the corridor to speak with Gaius and give the royal couple some privacy.

"Guinevere," Arthur says as soon as he sees her. She is sitting up in bed, looking tired and a bit bedraggled, but there is a peaceful smile on her face as she gazes down at the blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. She looks more beautiful than he's ever seen her.

"Arthur, my love… we have a son. A beautiful, healthy son," Guinevere says, her voice soft.

He stops a few feet from the bed, unable to move, overwhelmed. "A son?" he asks, his voice breaking. She nods. "And... you're all right?"

"Yes, Arthur, I'm as fine as I can be, given what I've just done," she answers, smiling. "We are both well and healthy. Come see."

He steps closer, his eyes glued to the blanket in his wife's arms. He sees a curl of light brown hair. A tiny nose. A tawny cheek. Then, a little fist breaks free, and the entire bundle squirms and squeaks.

"Oh," he sighs, his eyes misting.

"Come," Guinevere prompts, patting the bed beside her. "You won't hurt either of us, I promise."

Arthur gently sits on the bed, moving carefully until he is beside Guinevere. "He's beautiful," he says, reaching down to touch his cheek. It feels like warm velvet. "I can't believe he's really here."

"I know," she agrees. "It's so strange." Their son fusses a moment, then yawns.

"Why so sleepy? You've only just arrived," Arthur says, talking to his child. He reaches over and captures the little fist, holding it gently. The baby grasps his father's thumb and tries to pull it to his mouth. Guinevere chuckles softly, and Arthur kisses her cheek. "Thank you, my love," he whispers. "Thank you for giving me a beautiful son."

"You're welcome, Arthur," she replies, not quite sure why he's thanking her. _I did not do this all by myself._

There is a soft knock at the door and it opens before either of them can answer. "My lady?" Evelyn quietly calls.

"Yes, please come in, Evelyn," Guinevere answers. "I think the prince may be hungry."

The midwife appears, followed by the prince's nursemaid, Hunith, who also happens to be Merlin's mother.

_The door closed behind the final prospective nursemaid. They had seen approximately 20 women, and, to Arthur, they were all starting to look and sound alike._

_ "I like her," Guinevere had immediately said._

_ "You do? We know almost nothing about her," Arthur countered._

_ "Yes, I know, but… I just have a good feeling about her. She seems lovely and sweet. Some of the others came across as simply wanting the position to be able to say they are the royal nursemaid. She appeared to be more concerned with actually takin__g__ care of our child."_

_ There was a knock at the door, and Arthur turned. "Come in, Merlin," he called._

_ "How did you know it was me?" the servant asked. "You knock the same way every time," Arthur answered._

_ "Hmm," Merlin replied and went about serving their lunch while they continued to discuss the last woman they interviewed._

_ "She is not from Camelot. We know almost nothing about her," Arthur said._

_ "Yes, so you've__ said__," Guinevere gently reminded him._

_ "Well, it's important," he pressed. "How do we know she isn't a spy for Odin?"_

_ "Arthur, she's from Cenred's kingdom, not Odin's. And, Hunit__h__ has a good heart," Guinevere argued._

_ "She's not a spy, Sire," Merlin quietly interjected._

_ Arthur looked up at him. "And, how do you know this?" he asked, skeptical._

_ "She's my mother," the servant admitted._

_ "Well, why didn't she say __so__?"_

_ "She wished to earn the position on her own merits, not based on the fact that she is my mother and Gaius' niece," Merlin answered, pouring wine into the king's goblet. _

_ Guinevere looks expectantly towards her husband, waiting for his response._

_ Arthur sighed. "You truly wish for the woman who raised _him_ to help raise our child?" he asked._

_ "Arthur!" Guinevere exclaimed, but Merlin was laughing. "Yes. Merlin, is your mother alone then?"_

_ "Yes, my lady. My… my father died before I was born," he quietly informed._

_ "Oh, I am sorry," she answered, looking from the servant to her husband. It was clear Arthur already knew this, and suddenly the strange, but firm friendship between the king and his servant made a little more sense to the queen. She smiled at Merlin, then turned to Arthur, waiting expectantly._

_ "I did like her," the king admitted. "And, with Merlin as a son, she would have an unending supply of patience..."_

_ "Standing right here," Merlin said, a half-smile still playing about his lips._

_ "So, we are agreed?" Guinevere asked._

_ "Yes. Merlin, please go tell your mother the good news, and find out when she will be able to permanently return," Arthur declared. Merlin grinned and dashed out the door._

"He does appear to be hungry," Evelyn assesses, watching the prince fuss and smack his lips. She turns her gaze to the queen. "You are certain you wish to nurse him yourself, my lady?" she cautiously asks. It has been a topic of discussion between the midwife and the queen for awhile, and she wants to make sure the queen is completely resolute.

"Yes. I am certain," Guinevere firmly answers. To her relief (and mild surprise), Arthur agreed with her when she broached the topic of nursing their baby herself. "I understand there may be times when I may not be able to, and we will hire a wet nurse for those times. But, I wish to nurse him myself as much as possible," she had said. Arthur nodded and said he always found the custom of healthy, able queens using wet nurses to be a bit unnecessary.

"Very well, my lady. Sire, if I may?" Evelyn asks, waiting to approach the bed in order to assist the queen.

"Of course," Arthur moves to a chair beside the bed.

The midwife would have preferred that the king move further away, but says nothing, focusing her attention on Guinevere and the prince.

"Did Merlin wake you?" Arthur asks Hunith, who is hovering near the foot of the bed, busying herself by sorting through cloths for diapers, pulling out the softest ones and setting them aside. She looks remarkably alert considering the time.

"Yes, Sire. I asked him to wake me if the prince decided to make his arrival during the night," Hunith answers. "To be perfectly honest, I have been sleeping with one eye open all week," she adds with a smile.

Arthur glances over to see his son nursing at his wife's breast. The child seems to be taking to it well as far as the king can judge. "We have all been waiting rather anxiously," he agrees.

"What have you decided to call the prince, Sire?" Evelyn asks, stepping back now that the baby is nursing contentedly.

Arthur looks at Guinevere, and she smiles. "Llacheu Arthur Leodegrance," the king says.

Evelyn nods. "That is a good, strong name for a prince, my lord," she replies, helping the queen switch her son to nurse on the other side.

"Thank you," Arthur says, turning his attention back to his wife and son. As he gazes upon the two of them, the most precious people in his world, he feels a sense of contentment he's never experienced before.

The queen, feeling her husband's eyes on her, looks over at him and smiles, the same feeling of peace reflected on her face. "Please come," she says, wanting him to resume his place beside her.

He moves back to the bed, grateful to be close to his wife and son again. He reaches out and caresses Llacheu's head, feeling his soft, wispy curls under his palm. "I wish he would open his eyes," he says.

"He will," she assures him. "They are blue, like yours." He smiles, and she adds, "Evelyn says they may not stay blue, but we shall see."

"I would not mind if they turned brown like your beautiful eyes," Arthur says, looking up at his wife. He carefully leans over and kisses her. "I love you, Guinevere," he softly says, his lips hovering near hers.

"I love you too, Arthur," she answers, kissing him in return.

xXx

Prince Llacheu's first two months seemed to fly by, yet, for Arthur and Guinevere, there were times where it seemed as if the clock was ticking much slower than normal.

Guinevere's insistence on nursing her son herself meant that the prince would sleep in the royal chambers until he could sleep through the night without needing to be fed. And, he was quite vocal about needing to be fed, so if Guinevere was up, so was Arthur.

The queen, sequestered in the royal chambers for the first month, would nap when the prince napped to make up for lost sleep. The king was occasionally seen ducking into vacant guest rooms for a quick snooze just out of convenience. One morning before training, Percival discovered his king asleep on a bench in the armory. "I am very glad it is you who found me like this," Arthur had groggily said, sitting up. The large knight merely responded with an understanding smile.

Arthur insisted on being very involved in his son's care. Guinevere was initially surprised at her husband's actions, but after a moment's thought, they made perfect sense. _He knows how it feels to have a disinterested father._ He was forced to be away from his son more than the queen, especially during the first month, but whenever he returned, he would scoop Llacheu into his arms as soon as he was able. If the baby was nursing, he would have to wait, but even then, he would put a cloth on his shoulder and lift his son into his arms, patting and rubbing his back until the child let out a satisfactory burp.

Arthur would bring Llacheu to Guinevere in the middle of the night to feed so she wouldn't always be the one to have to get out of bed. The king even insisted Hunith show him how to change the prince's diaper, "Just in case."

Once Guinevere's lying-in was complete and she was cleared by Gaius and Evelyn to move about the castle again, Arthur insisted that his wife's return to her duties be a gradual one and has made sure she took some time for herself. Hunith would regularly care for Llacheu to give the king and queen time alone together as well. If he was awake, she would often take him to see Merlin and Gaius, who both doted on the little prince.

"Guinevere, watch this," Arthur greets her one bright spring afternoon. She had just returned from a walk in the royal gardens, where things were just beginning to turn green and come to life. She loves following the progress of the plants as they grow, noting which flowers are budding and which plants are starting to show signs of bearing fruit.

As she watches, Arthur lifts Llacheu in front of his face and moves him closer until the baby latches onto his nose, suckling it.

"Arthur!" she exclaims, laughing. "Don't let him do that too long, or your nose will turn red."

"Oh!" He gently disengages his son from his nose. "You're right. I wouldn't want to go around looking like I have a... love bite on my nose. That won't do at all," he says, chuckling. "Will it, Little Man?" he asks Llacheu, who fusses in reply. "I think he's hungry."

"What gives you that notion?" she laughingly asks as she holds out her arms. "Let's get some food in that round belly, shall we?" She takes her son and kisses his cheek, then moves to the bench she has lately favored for nursing when she is not in bed. She opens her bodice and settles in with Llacheu, who eats hungrily.

Arthur moves over to the bench and joins them, lifting the queen's feet onto his lap. He removes her slippers and gently massages her feet. "We received word that Caerleon will be coming for Llacheu's blessing. They sent apologies for replying so late as well," Arthur says.

"Oh, good. I should like to see Mithian again," Guinevere says. "She will be coming, will she not?"

"I cannot imagine why she would not," he says. "She loves children. I've heard her say that she would like to have as many as her body will bear." After a pause, he adds, "Of course, she had consumed rather a lot of wine that night..."

Guinevere laughs. "Then, it is probably true. I have often found wine and ale makes people rather more truthful than they would normally be."

Arthur joins her laughter. His strong hands are soothing on her small feet, and she sighs happily.

"Any word from Olaf?" she asks.

"Oh, yes. He declined. I think he is still embarrassed."

"I hope he does not brood over the incident for too much longer. It is forgiven and forgotten," Guinevere says. "I simply hope Vivian finds happiness."

Arthur nods. "I am pleased Elyan is coming."

"Yes, and he is bringing Princess Elena. Have you met her?" she asks.

"No, I haven't," he answers, his hands slowly moving higher on her legs, rubbing her ankles. "But, if Elyan intends to make her his wife, I am sure she is lovely."

"She is very kind. Reminds me a bit of Mithian actually. No airs, no pretense." She smiles, and switches the prince to her other breast. "A trifle clumsy, but rides better than some of the knights of Cameliard," she adds, chuckling.

"Very interesting," he replies, his hand moving up to her calves.

"Arthur," she says, giving him a sideways look, "what are you doing?"

"Massaging your lovely legs," he answers, his thumb stroking the back of her knee.

She moves the prince to her shoulder and gently pats his back. His eyes are heavy and she's a little worried he's going to nod off before he burps. "It's starting to feel less like a massage and more like a caress," she says, trying not to smile.

He slyly moves her skirts up, then bends down and kisses her knee. "Perhaps," he allows. "I was merely thinking... Llacheu is nearly asleep... he'll nap for a while with a full belly..." he pauses, kissing her other knee. The prince burps and Arthur laughs, but he is undeterred. "We might take advantage of the time for ourselves."

"Well, yes, it _is_ important for us to have time for ourselves," Guinevere allows, softly rubbing the baby's back. "Perhaps, if you call for Hunith..."

"Mmm," he agrees, kissing her leg once more, just above her knee, then sliding out from under her legs to go to the door.

A few minutes later, Hunith arrives, happy to take the sleeping prince to his nursery.

Arthur turns from the door to find Guinevere has already moved to the bed. "Now," he rumbles, stalking towards her with a sly smile on his face, "where were we?"

xXx

The prince's blessing and presentation went smoothly and with minimal fussing from Llacheu. They intentionally scheduled it right after his mid-morning feeding so he would be content. He slept through most of the ceremony, but woke up to see his subjects gathered in the courtyard from the same balcony his parents greeted the people, just over a year ago, on their wedding day.

There is to be a feast that evening in Llacheu's honor, a feast at which the prince will make a token appearance before being bundled away, up to bed, but the afternoon is free.

Guinevere returns to the royal chambers for a few moments of quiet. Hunith is with her, carrying the prince. She has thus far been an exemplary nursemaid. Llacheu likes her, and she is very good with him. And, Merlin seems very happy to have his mother living in the castle near him.

"Sefa, would you spread that blanket on the floor for the prince?" Guinevere asks.

"Yes, my lady," the maidservant answers. She is only too happy to help with the prince's care, especially when Hunith's hands are full.

Hunith sets Llacheu on his stomach on the blanket, then sits on a chair beside him. She gives him several toys to keep him occupied, but instead, he fusses.

"He doesn't like his tummy time," Guinevere says, smiling. "It is good for you, Dumpling," she tells her cranky son.

"Yes, listen to your mummy, my little lord," Hunith agrees, nudging a stuffed dog closer to him.

Arthur enters the room, Merlin on his heels. "Ah, it sounds like someone is enjoying himself," he says, chuckling. He stands over his squirming son. "It will help make you strong, my lad," he tells the boy. Then, he bends down and scoops up his son, kissing his chubby cheek. Seeing his wife's surprised expression, he kisses his son again, says, "Just for a minute," cuddles the boy, then sets him back down on the blanket. Llacheu squawks, but then grabs a toy.

The queen laughs, shaking her head. "Honestly, I wouldn't have thought you would be such a soft touch."

He moves closer to her, wrapping his arms around her. "Honestly, you should be the first person to realize that about me," he softly replies, keeping his voice low enough for only her to hear.

She giggles. He kisses, then releases her. "Merlin, would you go make sure the seats are _all_ set up in the hall for the feast? I don't want a repeat of the spring festival," the king says.

"Yes, Sire," Merlin replies from his spot beside his mother, where he had taken a moment to chat with her. "One would think things could be done in this castle without my overseeing every detail," he mutters as he walks out.

Hunith smiles, proud of her son. Guinevere sees this and says, "He really is very important to all of us. You are right to be proud of him."

The nursemaid blushes and answers, "Thank you, my lady. He is my greatest joy."

The queen smiles, then turns away to wipe an unexpected tear from her eye at the woman's words, her gaze falling to rest on Llacheu. Arthur sees this and takes her hand, kissing her wrist. He clears his throat and decides to change the subject. "Guinevere," he begins, walking her to her favorite bench.

"Yes?"

"Lady Corliss is going to be at the feast tonight. Garrett will be staying home with his nursemaid."

"Oh, how lovely. Garrett must be nearly a year old now," she says.

"You should consider asking Corliss to be your lady-in-waiting. You've been here more than a year now and still haven't chosen one," he suggests.

"I know. I really should have at _least_ one," she agrees. "It simply hasn't been in the forefront of my mind."

"Are you not lonely for female companionship?" he asks.

"Occasionally, but I am quite content with_ your_ companionship," she says, smiling. "I do like Corliss, and we have much to discuss whenever we see one another... and, it is quite likely Llacheu and Garrett will one day be as close as you and Sir Leon." Arthur smiles at this, and she adds. "She could even bring him with her to the castle. Once Llacheu is old enough, I am sure he will enjoy having Garrett as a playmate."

"So, you'll ask Lady Corliss?" Arthur asks.

"I will see if I can get a moment to speak with her at the feast tonight," Guinevere answers. "Thank you for the suggestion, Love. It is a very good idea." She leans over and kisses him.

From the rug, they hear Hunith clucking at the prince for throwing his toys off the blanket, and their kiss ends in laughter.

xXx

Later that afternoon, Arthur returns to the royal chambers. After lunch, the men had decided to head out to the training field for some recreation and friendly competition. Morgana had retired to her rooms with a headache and a draught from Gaius. Mithian and Elena decided to watch the knights, and Guinevere stayed in the royal chambers to feed Llacheu before his afternoon nap.

"Sir Lancelot is quite the knight," Arthur quietly says as he enters the room.

Guinevere looks up from her needlepoint. "Yes, Elyan says he has to work very hard to stay ahead of him," she says with a smile.

"Yes, I can understand that. He very nearly knocked me on my arse," he comments. "Of course, he may have been trying extra hard because of who I am…" he muses.

"The king?" Guinevere asks, not giving it much thought. She pokes the needle through the material and pulls the thread upwards, finishing the stitch she was halfway through when her husband entered.

"Your husband," Arthur answers, chuckling. "I am not certain he is quite over his infatuation with you yet."

"Hmm," she replies. "He will have to find his way there at some point." She looks up as Arthur approaches her. "It still does not trouble you? His… feelings?"

He shakes his head. "It will only trouble me if he decides to act on those feelings," he declares, bending to kiss her forehead. "What are you adding now?" he asks, knowing she has already stitched Llacheu's name on the tapestry. He leans over to see a nearly-completed medicine bottle stitched near their names. He smiles and kisses her.

"An unusual reminder of our love, but a reminder nevertheless," she says.

"Oh, it definitely must be included," he agrees. "How long has he been sleeping?" he asks, looking towards the crib.

"Not as long as he should have been," she sighs. "All this excitement."

He sits beside her. "I had expected to see you join Mithian and Elena on the fields," he says, mildly disappointed.

She sets her sewing aside and strokes his cheek. "I'm sorry, Dearest, I had intended to. Queen Annis paid me a visit."

"Oh?"

"We had a lovely talk," she explains. "Well, at first, she merely wished for a private glimpse of Llacheu – the woman is quite mad for grandchildren, you know – and it turned into a very nice conversation."

Arthur smiles. "I imagine she is, especially now that Allard is taking a wife." The party from Caerleon arrived the previous afternoon with a surprise: The prince has been betrothed to Princess Cyneburg of Mercia, King Creoda's daughter, and this is what caused their reply to arrive later than usual. Allard agreed to the union on the condition that the wedding will be held in six months' time, so that he and the princess could get to know one another _before_ they are wed.

"Yes. She's very pleased, but is still unsure what to do about Mithian. She fears her daughter is getting too old," Guinevere says.

He makes a face. "That is preposterous," he exclaims. "Mithian has just turned 21!"

"Arthur, do you know how old Annis was when she was sent to be Caerleon's bride?" she asks.

"No."

"She was 23. Her parents were frantic. They knew Caerleon wasn't an ideal match for her, but they accepted the offer for fear their daughter would become a spinster," Guinevere says.

"Annis told you this?" Arthur asks.

"She did. She also told me that she and Caerleon had rather a rough start to their marriage. They didn't get on at first," she says.

His face turns thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, I suppose I can see that," he allows.

"Because of this, it was very important to her to make sure we are still happy after a year. Now that we've had some time to get to know one another, she said." Guinevere reaches over and takes her husband's hands in hers. "I assured her we are. I told her about my illness before Llacheu was born."

Arthur smiles and lifts their joined hands to his lips. "Was she surprised?"

"Yes and no," she chuckles. "She said she could see the beginnings of love blossoming between us when we had only known each other for one week."

"Are we that obvious?" he asks, laughing a little as well.

"Only to those who know us well, apparently. Leon could see it with you. Elyan said much the same to me," she replies.

Arthur shyly smiles and looks down at their hands for a moment, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. "What else did you and Annis discuss?" he asks, looking up.

"Children. She is quite charmed by Llacheu. She held him for a while, and he was quite fascinated with her auburn hair," she says, chuckling. "She thinks he looks more like me than you," she adds.

"He does," Arthur says. "He has your eyes, both in shape and color. His hair and skin are a trifle lighter than yours, and I think he has my nose, but he is mostly you." He smiles. "Let us just hope that he will inherit my height."

"Oh!" Guinevere feigns offense and attempts to remove her hands from his. He simply pulls her closer and kisses her. "Don't let my brother hear you say that," she warns, knowing Elyan is not gifted with height either.

"Your brother would likely be the first to agree with me," Arthur counters. Turning serious again, he asks, "Did Annis say how she and Caerleon found a way to get along? They did eventually grow to love one another; Allard has said he's heard them declare their love to one another on more than one occasion. Did she give any insight as to how they worked through their differences?"

Guinevere thinks a moment, then realizes why he is asking. "You're thinking about Morgana," she says. He nods. "Do you think Annis would speak with her?"

"Actually, I was hoping you might speak with Morgana first," Arthur says. "She holds Annis in high regard, but... I think she might open up to you more, seeing as how you are closer to her age."

The queen thinks for a moment, carefully considering her husband's words. "Annis said she started listening to Caerleon when he spoke. _Really _listening. She took note when he conversed with others. His servants, his knights. She said that is how she got to know him, by watching him interact with others. And, when _they_ conversed, she made sure to give him her undivided attention, hoping to convey that his words were important. Hoping he would notice and, eventually reciprocate by listening to her. Valuing her thoughts and words." She pauses a moment. "Caerleon is older by nearly seven years, and had already been ruling as king for some time when he married Annis."

Arthur nods, having known this much.

"She made a point to say that I am truly fortunate to have such a husband as you, Arthur. I thought it might please you to hear," Guinevere volunteers.

He smiles and leans over to kiss her cheek. "It does. However, I had only been king for about a year before taking you as my wife, so suddenly having someone with whom to share the burden of rule was not a very large adjustment. In fact, I welcomed it," he says, kissing her again. "And, you have exceeded my expectations in every possible way, my love."

Guinevere smiles and caresses his cheek. "Thank you. Your words mean so much and I am very grateful that I did not have to fight for my voice here in Camelot. I couldn't have asked for a better husband or king."

"Nor I for a wife or queen," Arthur agrees. His face grows thoughtful as he remembers the topic of Annis and Caerleon again. "But, what of Caerleon? Did he reciprocate Annis' efforts?"

She nods. "Yes. Gradually. She said he has a tendency towards arrogance, so a few well-placed but sincere compliments here and there didn't hurt either. But, when he started noticing her interest, how she truly wished to be part of his life both as wife and queen, he began to answer her questions more fully, and even began _asking_ questions of her."

"I wonder if that would work for Morgana and Cenred. Cenred is… well, he's pretty pompous," Arthur chuckles.

"Possibly," Guinevere allows. "However, I think the most important point is they both _wanted_ to make their marriage work. I am not sure about Morgana and Cenred. I am fairly sure Morgana wants to, but Cenred… I don't know." she says.

"She does," Arthur interjects. "She does not find Cenred unattractive. She says he is a good king. However, he simply does not seem interested in having a wife. Or, possibly he is not interested in having _her_ as his wife."

"Oh, dear," Guinevere says with a frown. "I hope they are not doomed to be unhappy forever."

Arthur nods and squeezes her hands. "Will you talk to Morgana, please?"

"I suppose I could go and ask how her head is feeling, and... see where the conversation takes us," she agrees. "If you will stay here with Llacheu. Hunith is helping Merlin."

"Hmm, stay in here with my sleeping son, in the quiet? Ooo, difficult choice..." Arthur says, pretending to mull it over. He smiles and kisses his wife. "Thank you, my love."

"All I can do is try," Guinevere says. "Annis is very happy for both of us, by the way. She reminded me of how fortunate we are to have been so well matched."

"I can think of no one more fortunate than me," Arthur says. Guinevere knows he is not boasting; he is simply grateful for everything with which he has been blessed.

xXx

Guinevere softly knocks on Morgana's door, not wishing to disturb her if she is sleeping or her head still aches. She is just about to leave when she hears a voice.

"Yes?"

"It's Gwen," she answers.

The door opens immediately. Morgana is smiling. "Gwen, how lovely to see you. Please, come in," she says.

"How is your head?" Guinevere asks. Morgana indicates a chair, and the queen sits.

"Much better, thank you," Morgana answers, sitting in the other chair. "I had a lovely nap. I always sleep well here in my old bed." She wistfully smiles, clearly thinking of her former life in Camelot.

"Yes, I can understand how doing so would be a comfort," Guinevere replies.

"Did you go watch the boys at play?" Morgana asks, a lightly-teasing smile on her face.

"No, I didn't. Annis paid me a visit just as I finished nursing Llacheu, and we fell to talking," the queen answers, folding her hands on her knee.

"She wasn't lamenting about Mithian again, was she?"

Guinevere smiles. "Only a little. Mostly, she wanted to see the prince. And, ask me if Arthur and I are still as happy after a year as we were after a week." She holds her breath, having set out the bait.

"Are you?" Morgana asks, her face growing tense.

"Yes. Um, more so actually," she answers. Morgana looks down and away. "Morgana, I'm not telling you this to... flaunt my happy marriage to your cousin, I promise," she starts.

"I know you're not, Gwen," Morgana answers. "You are not that kind of person at all."

Guinevere reaches across for the other queen's hand. "Do you know Annis and Caerleon did not get along when they were first married?" she softly asks.

Morgana nods. "That is the general belief, yes."

"It is more than rumor. It is the truth. Annis told me so herself. And, her story sounded remarkably similar to yours. Now, I've been fortunate, and I haven't been married very long, but surely that should give you some hope?" Guinevere asks.

Morgana sighs. "Perhaps. However, Cenred is not Caerleon."

"Is he proud, arrogant, and accustomed to ruling alone?"

Morgana looks up. "Yes."

Guinevere raises her eyebrows. Morgana chuckles softly.

"Morgana, may I ask... do you _want_ to be married to him?" Guinevere asks.

The Queen of Cenred sighs. "That's the strange thing, isn't it? I do. I don't dislike him. When he summons me to his bed, I go willingly. He has never forced me to do anything I do not wish to do."

"That's good."

"On the other hand, he has never _asked_ me if there is something I _would_ wish to do. He never seeks out my thoughts or opinions on anything. I... it's so complicated, and it shouldn't be. He is good to me... when he remembers I exist. And, now..." she hesitates, tears shimmering in her green eyes.

"What is it, Morgana?" Guinevere asks, releasing her cousin's hands so she can retrieve a handkerchief from her vanity.

"I am with child," Morgana whispers, dabbing her eyes. "I haven't told him yet. I... I'm afraid he's going to accuse me of adultery because we've been married three years and I haven't yet given him an heir."

"Oh, Morgana," Guinevere says, standing and going over to her. She hugs her, and says, "This is a blessing. You must look at this event as such."

"I do not wish to bring a child into an unhappy marriage," Morgana replies. "It is not fair to the child. I..."

"Morgana, don't you see? This is an opportunity. You now have a very important _reason_ to go to him, to speak with him. We cannot know why you were unable to conceive until recently, but all we know is that it happened. It is simply a mystery, and if your husband doesn't see the baby for the gift that he or she is, then... he may need more time to think about it and become acquainted with the idea," Guinevere says. "Come back and sit," she urges.

Morgana nods and moves back to their seats. "I am nearly three months, Gwen. I need to tell him soon," she sighs. "I'm just so frightened."

Guinevere presses her lips together. "Do you know what Arthur told me about you?" Morgana's eyes widen slightly, and Guinevere raises her hand reassuringly. "He said you were exuberant. 'Like a bright light.' He fears Cenred has snuffed out your light." Morgana is touched by Arthur's heartfelt assessment of her and blinks back more tears as Guinevere continues. "Everything he has told me about you indicates you are an intelligent, brave woman who values fairness and justice." She bends her head and looks Morgana in the eyes. "Find that person again. She's still in there."

A tear drops onto Morgana's lap. "I'll try. I just... never know what to say to him."

Guinevere thinks a moment. "Well, you said you wished he would ask you for your thoughts. That he would ask you if there is anything you wish to do." Morgana nods, and the Queen of Camelot continues. "Have you tried asking _him_ if there is anything he wishes for you to do?"

"Once, when we were first married," Morgana answers. "He shrugged."

Guinevere winces slightly. "Ask again. Perhaps... try phrasing it differently. 'With what can I aid you, my lord?' instead of 'Is there anything I can do?' might help. You are clever. Arthur has told me you were the only person to whom Uther would actually listen. Surely that person isn't gone."

"Arthur's view of Uther is a little twisted," Morgana laughs. "Uther would move a mountain for Arthur if he wished it. Arthur simply never saw it. It's quite sad." She frowns, then sighs. "I do not wish for my child to grow up thinking his father does not love or want him. It nearly broke Arthur before he was able to understand that it wasn't his fault."

"I know," Guinevere slowly nods. "He has told me."

"Of course, he has." Morgana sadly smiles. "I am envious of you, Gwen. I want the kind of relationship with Cenred that you have with Arthur."

Guinevere takes Morgana's hands again. "Then, fight for it. If not for you, then for your child. Tell him. Tonight, if you must. He may be quite pleased by the news. It may be the bridge the two of you need to find your way to one another." She pauses a moment, then adds, "However, if he accuses you of lying with another man to become with child and turns you away... well, you always have a home here. I know Arthur will gladly take you in."

Morgana sniffles and nods. "Thank you, Gwen."

"You're welcome, Morgana. And, perhaps you should try to find a few moments to talk to Annis. I know she would be happy to share any advice she has. You know she thinks of you and Arthur as her own."

"I know," Morgana agrees. "I will try." The sound of a slamming door makes her head snap in the direction of her husband's adjoining quarters. "Should I talk to him now?" she asks, her voice a hushed whisper. "Here? Before the feast?"

"That is up to you," Guinevere answers. "You may, if you wish to begin while it's fresh in your mind and before you lose your nerve," she says, smiling. "But, if you need time to prepare, to think about what you would like to say, or feel another time to be more suitable for this conversation, you may choose to wait."

Morgana chews her lower lip, thinking it over. "It may be easier to keep his attention undivided since we are away from home," she muses.

"Arthur and I will understand if you are late to the feast. Or, even completely absent. I will send two meals up if necessary," Guinevere suggests, getting the distinct feeling her fellow queen is leaning towards talking to her husband immediately.

Morgana hugs Guinevere. "You are too smart to be married to Arthur," she jokes in her ear.

Guinevere allows a short laugh, slowly shakes her head, and gently responds, "I know you meant that in jest, Morgana. But, you and I both know it is not true."

Her cousin stills, then smiles and nods her head. "Indeed," she sighs. "Thank you, Gwen. For everything."

xXx

At the feast, several things become clear.

Prince Llacheu has inherited his father's disposition for responding to crowds. Even at two months old, he soaks up the attention, charming everyone for the short time he is in attendance.

Elyan and Elena are very well matched. Raucous laughter rises from their table at regular intervals, and the couple is seen continually gazing adoringly at one another.

Lady Corliss is thrilled to be asked to be the queen's lady-in-waiting, and admits to having been secretly hoping Guinevere would choose her.

Annis no longer needs to worry about finding a husband for Mithian. The princess and Sir Gwaine have been nearly inseparable since that afternoon's training exercise, and the Queen of Caerleon has learned that the handsome knight isn't truly as roguish as his reputation suggests. "He's a flirt, but a harmless one," Mithian had promised. "We've been corresponding since the coronation," she quietly added, much to her parents' surprise.

Morgana and Cenred are late to the feast, but arrive holding hands. Only Guinevere and Arthur can see the last vestiges of redness around her eyes, and when Morgana smiles at them, Guinevere exhales, relieved. Arthur, having been filled in on the details when his wife returned to their quarters, squeezes her hand reassuringly. Later, Morgana finds a moment to quietly tell the queen, "He was overjoyed about the baby. He also didn't realize he was neglecting me as much as he has. All is not yet sorted, but we're on the right path."

"It cannot all be repaired with one conversation," Guinevere replies. "You will need to be patient with one another."

"I will write and tell you how we are faring," Morgana says. "Oh, and Gwen?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for not asking me if the baby is his."

Guinevere smiles understandingly. "I know you were unhappy, but I _also_ know you would not dishonor your wedding vows."

"Cenred just told me the news," Arthur says. "He did not have the slightest idea that I already knew."

Morgana smiles. "Thank you, Arthur."

"You're going to have to name the baby after me now, you realize," he teases.

"Hmm, I don't know... 'Prince Toadface of Cenred' doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?" Morgana returns, laughing.

Guinevere claps her hand over her mouth, but Arthur laughs openly, his spirits too high to be offended.


End file.
